


Starting Over

by serendipity_50



Series: Starting Over Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipity_50/pseuds/serendipity_50
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>PLEASE NOTE:</b> The warnings on this story are strictly precautionary in case of triggers. The violence is not exceedingly graphic and the rape/non-con is attempted only; both occur in later chapters.</p><p>Harry and Ginny lived happily ever after...eventually. After the war, things didn't go as easily as they should have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first of my two H/G fics, _Starting Over_ and its sequel _Inner Demons_. These were originally posted on my LJ, but now that they're finished, I thought I'd put them here as well. I owe a tremendous debt to my betas ClaraMinutes and the exceedingly patient and long-suffering Ashwinder and Minisinoo.

They could have been mirror images—pale, unresponsive, lifeless.

Ginny stood in the doorway, considering the facing profiles of her twin brothers. Fred looked so tranquil lying on the bed. In the chair next to him, head bowed and eyes closed, George appeared equally at peace.

Fred was dead. George wasn't.  It was hard to tell the difference.

Darkness hung heavily over the room. The drapes were drawn against the brilliant summer sun and dim candlelight flickered reverently. In the two days since kneeling beside Fred in the Great Hall, George hadn’t spoken or moved from his twin's side. He sat next to the bed, staring blindly into Fred's face or hiding behind closed eyelids, lost in a place deep within himself.

Ginny took a deep breath, unwilling to disturb the communion between brothers.

"George." Her voice was just above a whisper. She hated to dishonor the silence. "It's time."

Mechanically, he turned and opened his eyes. The utter anguish in their depths made her breath hitch. She wanted to throw her arms around him, love some life back into him, but he was unreachable, locked away in his grief. She choked back her sob and strained to fill her lungs with air so she could continue.

"They’re—” She swallowed hard. “They’re coming. Bill and Charlie are coming—to get him."

George turned slowly toward Fred and laid his hand over his brother's heart.

Ginny thought she had cried herself dry, but the tears coursed down her cheeks again. She mourned for Fred, but her heart broke for George. He seemed to have lost half of himself.

The twins had worked hard to promote their image as alter egos, comrades in crime, best friends from before birth. Two halves of a whole.

Ginny knew better, though. They were individuals—so very different on the inside. Fred was the leader, the more outspoken one, the outrageous one. Oh, he could be kind and caring and lots of fun, but he wasn’t tuned in to the emotions of those around him. George was more observant, more thoughtful, more gentle. He was the one who always made sure Ginny's feelings weren’t hurt by their pranks. Who went out of his way to cheer her up when she was feeling down. Who protected her when her other brothers' teasing got out of hand. That's not to say Fred didn't love her in his own way, and she loved him as much as any of her brothers. But he and George were different. And George would take the loss much harder.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Ginny wiped her eyes and eased over to George’s side. Slipping her arm around his back, she gently prodded him from the chair.

“Come on. Let’s go downstairs.”

He didn’t resist, but left his hand and his eyes on Fred until she moved him beyond reach. Bill and Charlie stood aside to let them pass as she guided him to the kitchen where the family waited, somber and silent.

“Oh, George,” Molly sobbed, flinging herself around him as he stepped into the room.

His arms came up reflexively to hold her, but his eyes were vacant, his embrace limp, as if every stilted move was guided by an unseen puppeteer. He patted her shoulder absently, then released her and walked listlessly out of the kitchen. Gasping for air through her tears, Molly stared after him a moment before collapsing into Arthur’s arms, wailing that she’d lost them both. Ginny gave her mother a squeeze on the way out the door. Dad could look after Mum—George needed her more.

By her choice and family consensus, Ginny had become George’s guardian. At first, Molly had tried gently mothering him out of his shock. When that didn’t work, she reverted to her usual method of dealing with the twins—threats. Finally, as panic set in, she had pleaded with him hysterically, managing only to push him further into his shell. Arthur finally convinced her to give George space to grieve and let Ginny see to his needs.

If you could call toleration a response, he was more receptive to Ginny than to anyone else. She allowed him his solitude, keeping her vigil unobtrusively, intruding only to coax him to take a little broth now and then (as much for Molly’s sanity as his welfare). The family had reluctantly let him be.

The walk to the wizard cemetery a quarter mile away struck Ginny as surreal. How could the world throb with life at a time like this? How dare the sunlight dance through the trees and the sky be so impossibly blue when they trudged along under such a cloud of despair?

At the gravesite, Ginny looked around, amazed at the sheer numbers of friends and family members who had come to pay their respects. She was surprised, too, at the numbers of photographers and reporters who lined up behind the barrier guarded by Aurors to keep them from breeching the burial grounds. Fred had been popular, but not famous. She wondered briefly why they had come.

Among the mourners, she saw lots of faces she recognized from the Ministry, the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, and a good many friends from Hogwarts—Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan and others. Angelina Johnson was convulsing with sobs in the arms of Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. Angelina and Fred had danced around each other for years, never quite getting together as a couple except for their one date to the Yule Ball. Ginny’s stomach clenched for the other girl’s misery and all of the things that could never be… for her and for Fred.

Weary of crying, Ginny closed her eyes for a moment to stem the flow of tears. When she opened them again, the crowd was parting to make way for some newcomers—Harry, Ron and Hermione and their contingent of Auror bodyguards. At the sudden strobe of lights, Ginny realized why the reporters had come.

This was the first Ginny had seen of them since they’d left the Great Hall after Voldemort’s defeat. The morning after the battle, The Trio, as they were now known throughout the Wizarding world, had been swept away in a media frenzy while the rest of the Weasleys had brought Fred home. Ginny had seen  a couple of the articles in the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly,_ but she hadn’t paid much attention to the press beyond that while she was caring for George. Apparently, things were much crazier than she’d realized.

Harry stopped short of joining the family. Ron tried to urge him forward, but he shook his head and motioned for them to go ahead. Hermione spoke softly to Harry, but he shook his head again and stubbornly stared at the ground. With a look at one another, Ron and Hermione stood with him where they’d stopped.

Harry was as pale and gaunt as George, the pain in his eyes as vivid as their color against the shadows beneath them. She knew he would feel responsible for every death at the Battle of Hogwarts, but his guilt over the loss of a Weasley would eat at him, make him feel unworthy of them. Her arms ached to hold him, to comfort him, to let him know he was loved. Instead, she gave George’s hand a squeeze. He didn’t acknowledge the gesture, but he didn’t pull away. She took that as a good sign.

As the eulogy droned on, Ginny’s thoughts whirled through the events of the past two days and the days to come. Extended family had descended from all over Britain and the Burrow was a constant hubbub. Funerals for the others who died at Hogwarts were scheduled several a day into next week, and the Weasley family would be represented by at least one family member at most of them. Harry, no doubt, would feel obliged to attend every one. As much as she wanted to, Ginny doubted she would have a chance to talk with him any time soon. She supposed the madness would continue for a while.

The droning stopped. Ginny snapped from her musings and pulled George gently with her to the end of the family’s informal receiving line. People worked their way past each Weasley offering condolences and hugs—until they reached George. Faced with his palpable, impenetrable grief, most of them hesitated then moved on without disturbing him. Even Lee Jordan seemed at a loss. The twins’ best friend since they’d entered Hogwarts, Lee was the one person Ginny had thought could draw George from his shell. The three of them had been inseparable for seven years, inspiring each other in the school’s most notorious escapades and operating the underground Potterwatch wireless broadcast as part of the resistance against Voldemort. But George endured Lee’s embrace just as he had Molly’s—not recoiling, but not responding. At Lee’s startled look, Ginny pressed her lips together and shook her head. He backed slowly away, a sad, lost look in his eyes.

As she watched him go, she noticed Harry still standing apart from the gathering, watching the procession, studying each of the Weasleys in turn as if to gauge their feelings. He, too, had put a shield around himself that no one seemed willing to disturb. Knowing him as she did, she wasn’t surprised he would hold himself apart from her family. He would feel their loss was his fault, their forgiveness undeserved. Ironically, not a single Weasley thought forgiveness was needed. They were as grateful to Harry as the rest of the Wizarding world for defeating Voldemort. Fred and all of the other fallen at Hogwarts had gone willingly into the battle, choosing to fight—and give their lives—for a cause in which they believed. Harry was not to blame. But he wouldn’t believe that.

When Harry’s glance fell on her, she gave him a sad smile, willing him to come forward and let her give him a hug. But he only nodded briefly and shifted his gaze to George.

How like him to seek the most difficult challenge first. Stiffening his spine and flexing his jaw muscles, Harry got that look in his eyes that meant he was steeling himself for a task he’d rather not face, but knew he had no choice. She’d seen that look too many times over the years—when he’d prepared for the Triwizard Tournament, when he’d accepted the prophecy linking his fate with Voldemort, when he’d broken up with her after Dumbledore’s funeral.

He walked slowly toward them, stopping before George and drawing the focus of the gathering to the two of them. The crowd grew silent, scarcely daring to breathe. Even the photographers went unnaturally still.

George’s blue eyes suddenly flickered to life as they registered Harry’s green.

“You—” George stopped to clear his throat, his voice barely audible and raspy from disuse. “You killed him.”

Harry flinched, but didn’t move, bracing himself for the punishment he would think was his due. Ginny tensed, ready to intervene if things got physical. Harry wouldn’t defend himself.

George moved quickly, folding Harry into a bone-crushing embrace. Harry remained still, looking bewildered.

“You killed that bloody bastard…” George said, his voice cracking with emotion. “avenged Fred… avenged them all… he can’t hurt anyone again.”

Harry finally came to life and brought his arms up to return the hug. He closed his eyes and relaxed against George. Ginny put her hand to her mouth to catch the wrenching sob that escaped anyway. Others around them did nothing to stop their tears. Cameras flashed. Harry and George stood together in silent grief for several moments before stepping back to exchange a dry-eyed look of mutual gratitude. The crowd drew a collective breath.

As George dropped his eyes and began walking slowly along the path toward the Burrow, Harry finally turned to Ginny. With the slightest movement, she invited him into her arms and buried her face in his shoulder, savoring the feel of him, his breath on her neck, his scent. She could have stayed there forever, but too quickly he loosened his hold. Desire and guilt clashed within her—she didn’t want to choose between them. With a fleeting look at her brother’s retreating back, she turned her face up to Harry’s.

“I—” She looked after George again, and back at Harry. “I have to go.”

He nodded. He was so somber. “We’ll talk later.”

Unable to force words past the lump in her throat, she gave him another quick hug and hurried off toward home. Behind her, Molly sobbed loudly, no doubt endowing Harry with all the motherly affection she hadn’t been able to bestow on George.  Ginny wanted so badly to stay, but, right now, George needed her more.

***

Harry watched over Molly Weasley’s head as Ginny hurried down the lane. He had seriously considered Apparating away with her, keeping her to himself for a while, but that would have been entirely too selfish. From what Ron had told him, she was about the only thing tethering George to reality and keeping Molly from driving them all insane. That brief hug—and he had had to work hard to keep it so—had been like salve on an open wound for him… salve that he had no right to seek.

Ron and Hermione had told him the Weasleys felt no need to forgive him, but he couldn’t forgive himself. He had seen the explosion and the wall caving in, but Harry felt as though he might just as well have cast the curse himself to send it crashing down. If he’d been quicker to accept his destiny, quicker at finding the Horcruxes, quicker about facing Voldemort, how many could have been saved? How many wouldn’t have had to die?

The Weasleys’ acceptance and forgiveness almost grated on him. He would prefer anger. It would feel more right. But instead, he would bear Molly’s tearful embrace and Arthur’s hand on his shoulder as the media vultures recorded the scene for posterity. Perhaps that really was a more fitting punishment.   

***

Ginny maneuvered the tray into Percy’s room and set it carefully on the end of the bed next to where George sat, staring with unseeing eyes out the window into the garden below.

The move into the bedroom across the hall had been Ginny’s idea. George wasn’t ready to return to his and Fred’s flat over their shop in Diagon Alley (Molly wouldn’t hear of it anyway), but Ginny didn’t think he would want to sleep in their old room with all the memories it held. Since Percy was renting a flat in London, he didn’t need his room any longer. Moving George was just the logical thing to do. He hadn’t protested, just followed her in after the funeral and had either sat staring out the window or lay curled on top of the bed coverings in the twenty-four hours since.

With the rest of the family attending funerals, they were alone in the house.

“George?” Ginny put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move. “I made you a sandwich. Do you think you can try to eat a little?”

He made a small movement with his hand. She took even that small response as a positive step forward, but knew she should still move cautiously. She waited a couple of minutes before trying again.

“You need to eat something. You haven’t eaten in days,” she said as gently as she could.

He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. She waited a moment longer, then stepped in front of him.

“George, please… Fred wouldn’t want—”

Ginny jumped back as his arm flung out, sending the tray flying.

“HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW WHAT FRED WOULD WANT?” He stood and paced angrily across the room. Ginny cowered against the wall to avoid his flailing arms. “FRED’S GONE! GONE! WE’LL NEVER KNOW WHAT HE WANTS—NONE OF US—EVER AGAIN!”

He stopped in the middle of the room, panting with rage and glaring at Ginny. She pushed herself from the wall and met his stare head on. She had never backed down from a fight with any of her brothers and something told her this wasn’t the time to start. George needed to vent his anger and she loved him enough to let him.

“I loved him, too, you know,” she said, matching his volume. “We all did. And we all love you, too.”

“Just get out! Get out and leave me alone!”

“No!”

He stared at her a moment longer, then, with a scream of fury, picked up the small table next to the bed and hurled it at the mirror on the wall. Shards of glass and splinters of wood rained back at them. Ginny had just enough time to turn her back as a large piece of mirror flew toward her and sliced across her upper arm.

Time seemed to stand still as they both looked in horror at the patch of bright red seeping across the sleeve of her white blouse. George reacted first, whipping his wand from his pocket and ripping her sleeve open to tend to the wound.

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” he said with panic in his voice. “I didn’t mean—oh bloody hell—that could’ve—bloody hell—I’m sorry—I’m sorry …”

Ginny grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a good shake. “It’s okay, George. It’s okay. You’ve fixed it. I’m okay.”

She pulled him into a tight hug, and he collapsed onto her shoulder, great sobs wracking his body. Ginny didn’t know how long they knelt on the floor, crying in each others arms, but when they finally stopped, George seemed to be headed back from his long sojourn in the land of grief. She knew he wasn’t healed and that he would never be his old self again, but he had made a start. They both had. The days ahead would be hard for the whole family. Time was the only thing that could help now.


	2. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get back to "normal" at the Burrow, but Harry is still out of reach and Ginny's patience and confidence are dwindling.

If time was the only thing that could help heal her grief, Ginny thought she should be well on the road to recovery. Time—sluggish days and endless nights—had become her nemesis. The days ticked by as the Weasleys slowly moved back into their normal routines, even if life itself didn’t seem normal. Every member of the family had emotional ups and downs to deal with and their own ways of coping.  
  
Charlie had returned to Romania three days after Fred’s funeral (to escape Molly’s emotional pleas for him to move back to Britain) and Dad and Bill were back at their respective jobs with the Ministry and Gringotts. Mum fought stress with housework and, as a result, was keeping Ginny busy with the most thorough cleaning the Burrow had ever seen—but they had to stop regularly to deal with their grief when they came upon something that reminded them of Fred.  
  
George still had more bad days than good, but he was slowly beginning to rejoin the family. Mum was learning to just accept his infrequent appearances at meals as routine. When she made a fuss over him, he retreated back into his room for days. If they all paid little attention to him, he was more likely to come down and even stay to listen to after-dinner conversation for a bit, though he seldom took part.  
  
They saw little of Ron, and, by extension, of Hermione and Harry. As the heroes of the Wizarding world, they were being pulled in every direction. That brief hug at Fred’s funeral had been Ginny’s one chance to get close to Harry in nearly a year, and she was getting frustrated. The dragging hours reminded her too much of the agonizing waiting she’d done over the past year. Even now, her stomach coiled into tight knots when she thought of it.  
  
When Ron, Harry, and Hermione had Disapparated away from the wedding, she’d been so afraid she’d never see them again. Night after night those last weeks before school, she’d lain awake worrying about them. Or if she managed to drift off, she would wake shaking and in tears from dreams in which they were captured and tortured or worse. The endless waiting for news had been maddening. Everyone kept reminding her that no news was good news—hearing nothing meant they weren’t dead yet. But she couldn’t help worrying.  
  
Going back to school had helped. Luna and Neville had saved her sanity when the three of them had joined forces to reorganize Dumbledore’s Army. At last, she was able to do something besides keep the home fires burning for the members of the Order of the Phoenix and wait for word… she could take part in the fight herself.  
  
But when she came home on holiday, with nothing more pressing to keep her mind occupied, her paralyzing terror for Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned full force. She’d nearly driven her mother mad by alternately prowling restlessly through the house or sitting for hours on Harry’s camp bed, clutching the pillow he’d slept on and staring into space. She was frightened for all of them, but her heart yearned for Harry. She’d clung to her mantra: no news is good news, no news is good news…  
  
Neville’s message via the DA coin that night at the beginning of May had finally brought blessed relief. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were at Hogwarts. She’d needed only two seconds to convince Fred to bring her to the Hogs Head with him. George had wanted to ask Mum first, but Ginny wasn’t going to give anyone a chance to make her stay behind.  
  
Her first sight of Harry after so many months had come as a shock. But for the scar on his forehead and his brilliant green eyes, she hardly recognized him—he was gaunt and unshaved with tangled black hair hanging to his shoulders. Ron and Hermione had looked no better. They were all filthy, wearing torn and dirty clothes, and covered in cuts, bruises, and burns.  
  
She had watched Harry carefully as everyone gathered in the Room of Requirement. As usual, he wanted to do everything himself—not because he didn’t trust them or thought he was better, but because he wanted to keep everyone out of danger. He was like that—always throwing himself in front of the enemy to protect those he loved. She was surprised when Ron easily talked him into letting them help, but she put it down to Harry being distracted. Most people wouldn’t know what it meant when he rubbed his scar like that, but she did; he was channeling Voldemort. Last year, when she’d spent so much time with him in private corners around the school grounds, he’d told her how frightening and painful the visions were and how inadequate he felt to meet this challenge. But, now, he seemed to be using the visions instead of being used by them.  
  
Ginny had marveled at this change in him. He no longer seemed fearful. He was in control. She saw the occasional flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by determination, and he exuded a confidence she’d never seen in him. At some point during their time on the run, he’d finally accepted the mantle of leadership that he’d worn so reluctantly before, that he’d always shrugged off at the first opportunity like a scratchy woolen cloak. Somewhere along the way, in the midst of his adventures, he’d crossed the line between boy and man.  
  
And then, just as she’d known he would, he destroyed the most evil wizard the world had ever seen. He’d fulfilled his destiny… and been swept away from her the next morning.  
  
She’d thought once the war was over there would be nothing to separate them any longer. But she saw him only occasionally during what she came to think of as Funeral Week, and only then when he was engaged in doing other things. Once or twice they found themselves face-to-face in a crowd or momentarily alone in the same room, but the meetings were never long enough or alone enough for a proper conversation. But she was determined to be patient, to wait her turn, positive that it would come soon.  
  
Once Funeral Week ended, The Circus (as Ginny dubbed it) began. The entire Wizarding world, it seemed, wanted to present Harry with an award, interview him, or have him attend this ceremony or that celebration. Harry insisted that Ron and Hermione receive equal recognition, and the three of them got so many requests for appearances that Fleur stepped in to manage them all and make sure they got where they needed to be when they needed to be there.  
  
The rest of the Weasleys were invited to every event as honored guests, and Ginny attended many of them, but she could never get near Harry. She watched in agony as women (and men) of all ages—politicians, actresses, singers, athletes, and any others who could get close enough—fawned over him and pawed him like a piece of meat. She finally reached the point that she refused to look at any newspaper or magazine so she wouldn’t have to see the pictures. He didn’t look nearly as annoyed by the attention as she thought he ought. In fact, she was sure, in some cases, he appeared to be enjoying it quite a lot.  
  
By the end of May, her patience had dwindled, and her confidence with it. With the exception of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry had been the darling of the Wizarding world since he was a year old, and he was even more so now. Girls much prettier and smarter and richer than Ginny were throwing themselves at him. Could she compete? He’d never wanted fame and he already had fortune, but would the attention change him now that the burden of his destiny was gone and the danger was past? Would she be enough for him?  
  
She stopped making an effort to get near him when they were at the same events. In fact, she would do just the opposite—find someone to talk to as far from him as she could get and turn her back so she couldn’t follow him with her eyes as he worked the crowd. If she happened to see him headed her way, she would pretend to spot someone across the room that she just had to speak with and hurry off to avoid him. Sometimes she even begged off going at all, then would spend the evening sitting on her bed, hugging Harry’s pillow, wondering if he even noticed that she wasn’t there.  
  
Except for his occasional attempts to speak to her when they crossed paths, she’d had no contact from him at all. Even a note by owl would have kept her holding out hope, but it never came.  
  
Pride kicked in. She wasn’t about to write to him. He’d probably never see the letter anyway. According to Fleur, he received hundreds of owls a day. He’d started out trying to answer them all himself, but Fleur finally convinced him to let her screen them and show him only the most important letters. Which was another good reason not to write to him—Fleur would read what she wrote before Harry did… if he ever read it at all. She suspected her letter might not make it through the screening process.  
  
By mid-June, Ginny gave up all hope of ever seeing Harry alone, much less getting back together as a couple.  
  
***  
Harry leaned back against the plush upholstery of the Ministry car and closed his eyes, grateful for Fleur's foresight in securing it. He didn't have the energy to even think about Apparating anywhere.  
  
"I can't believe them!" Hermione was sitting between Harry and Ron in the big backseat and her temper was in high gear. "Harry, how long are you going to let them keep doing this to you?"  
  
Harry sighed and looked at her with bleary eyes. "It's okay, Hermione."  
  
"No, it's not. You haven't had a moment to yourself since the war ended. You need time to breathe." Her expression grew gentle. "Harry, you need time to grieve."  
  
He laid his head back and closed his eyes again. "I will. It's okay."  
  
"Harry—"  
  
"Leave the man alone," Ron said quietly, putting a hand on her knee. "He's got enough on his plate without you having a go at him, too."  
  
She turned on Ron. "But, it's just not fair. They treat him like a show dog, parading him here and there. They don't seem to realize he's a real person with feelings and needs. They don't love Harry Potter. They just like the idea of him." She turned back to Harry. "Harry, you never used to let Scrimgeour use you as a poster boy for the Ministry. Why are you letting them do it now?"  
  
Harry didn't move and spoke with a weary tone. "It's different. Scrimgeour just wanted me to give credibility to the Ministry's manipulations. The war's over now. Shacklebolt really is trying to rebuild the Wizarding world. If parading me helps, then I'm happy to do it."  
  
"But—"  
  
"If you're tired of it, you don't have to come anymore," Harry said.  
  
He heard her heavy sigh. "No... no, I want to be there for you."  
  
Harry raised his head to look at her properly. “But it's not just for me. It's for you, too. You both deserve just as much credit for defeating Voldemort as I do. Maybe even more. We'd never have lasted all those months on the run without your plans and preparations and knowledge of spells. Without you, we'd have been dead before we ever got started."  
  
She flushed at the praise. "Thanks, but you're the one everyone wants to see. And you're the one who's bearing the brunt of our schedule. You're not sleeping, are you?"  
  
He laid his head back and didn't answer.  
  
"And you’re still having nightmares, aren't you?” When he didn’t respond, she grabbed his hand. “Let me give you some of my sleeping potion. You need to get some rest."  
  
“I'm fine.”  
  
"You do look like hell, mate," Ron said. “Take the potion and let’s tell Fleur to work in a couple of days off.”  
  
“No.” Harry said the word a little more forcefully than he intended and looked at them apologetically. “No, let's just get it all over with.”  
  
He ignored the sideways glance Hermione gave Ron and turned away from them to look out the window. He didn't want any free time. Already the endless nights were filled with images of war and dead bodies and longings he didn't dare dwell on. Having time during the day to think would only make matters worse.  
  
“When is your meeting with the Auror board?” Ron asked.  
  
Grateful for the subject change, Harry looked back at him. “At ten in the morning.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Not likely I'll pass the psyche test, though. Probably a waste of time.”  
  
Hermione frowned.  
  
“Nah, they'll let you in, no worries,” Ron said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They might only do it because you're Harry Potter, but you'll be the best they've got in no time.”  
  
Harry laid his head back. “I'm not so sure about that.”  
  
They were quiet until the car stopped a few moments later in front of Hermione's flat.  
  
“You sure you don't want that potion?” Hermione asked as Ron opened the door.  
  
“No, thanks. I'm fine.”  
  
She gave him a quick hug before following Ron out of the car. “Get some rest, okay?”  
  
“I will. G'night,” Harry said and laid his head back wearily as the car pulled away from the curb.  
  
***  
“I’m ready to bring Mum and Dad back,” Hermione announced at supper in the Weasley kitchen one evening in late June. The previous summer, in preparation for the uncertainties of the coming war, she had Obliviated her parents’ memories, given them new identities, and sent them off to live in Australia with no knowledge of a daughter who was the target of the most evil wizard of all time.  
  
“Want me to come with you?” Ron asked as he ladled stew onto his plate.  
  
“I’d love that.” She flashed him a big smile that quickly turned sly. “But we’ll have to take Muggle transportation, since my parents can’t Apparate.”  
  
He gaped at her. “Why? We can’t bring them by Side-Along?”  
  
“No, it’s too far and the effects of Apparition on non-magical people, especially over that distance, haven’t been tested. Well, at least not tested enough that I’m going to try it.”  
  
Ginny listened with half an ear as the talk turned to Muggle air travel and the need for Ron to get a passport—whatever that was. She snapped to attention, though, as the topic changed course.  
  
“We’ll have to have a party for them,” Mum said. “Let’s do something in the garden on Friday evening after you get back.”  
  
“That would be lovely, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said. “But let’s keep it small. I’m so tired of all the pomp and circumstance.”  
  
“Oh, I agree, dear,” Molly said. “Who should we invite, then?”  
  
Hermione thought for a moment. “I think it should be just family—and maybe Andromeda and Teddy. And, of course, Harry.”  
  
“Well, of course, Harry, dear. He’s family,” Mum said as she began clearing the dishes from the table.  
  
Ginny’s heart jumped. Harry was going to be at the Burrow. No reporters, no Ministry officials, no groupies. Just Harry. Perhaps her time had finally come.

***

Harry watched dully as the quill skittered across the parchment, recording notes. He knew the outcome of the report and wished they could just get on with it so he could leave.  
  
The week had actually been less grueling than he had expected. The initial interview with the Auror board had gone so smoothly he wondered if they hadn’t been easier on him than they usually were with potential recruits. Had he been conducting the interview, he would have asked much tougher questions.  
   
The test on the following day had been almost ridiculously easy as well. Surely they usually required more in the practical defensive arts than what he’d been teaching to Dumbledore’s Army his fifth year at Hogwarts? And the dedication and perseverance evaluations had been waived entirely, based on Minister Shacklebolt’s letter of recommendation attesting to his continuous battle against Voldemort from the age of eleven.  
  
Harry would have liked to ask another recruit or one of his old Auror friends about their experience to see if he was being given special treatment—something he vehemently didn’t want. But he didn’t know who any of the other recruits were and, other than Shacklebolt, all of his Auror friends were dead. He wasn’t convinced the Minister would give him a straight answer.  
  
The whole affair would have made him angry but for the final test—the one he knew he couldn’t pass. The evaluation for handling stress would be the hurdle he could never clear, so the others really didn’t matter anyway.  
  
The nightmares, the flashbacks, the sleeplessness and fatigue, the excruciating depression that clouded everything in his life were all sure to keep him from the only goal he’d ever had beyond defeating Voldemort. Since he was fourteen, he’d known that if he lived through the final battle, he wanted to be an Auror—to make sure no one ever again had to live through the horrors that a dark wizard could inflict on their world.  
  
Well, he’d done it. He’d defeated the most evil wizard of the age and lived to tell the tale. But now, his head was so messed up they’d never take him into the program, and the empty future stretched endlessly before him. He couldn’t think beyond the next five minutes. How was he supposed to figure out what to do with the rest of his entire life? If not for the need to finish Voldemort, perhaps he should have made a different decision during his meeting with Dumbledore at “King's Cross.” He wondered if it were possible to go back now…  
  
“Well, I think that about does it,” said the wizard—Tottingham was his name—as he laid down his quill. He leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers at his chin as he regarded Harry thoughtfully. The gesture reminded Harry so strongly of Dumbledore that he suddenly had to swallow hard to push down the knot that formed in his throat.  
  
Determined to take the news with dignity, Harry gave the man a direct look. The wizard had a kindly expression in his brown eyes—almost the color of Ginny’s, Harry thought fleetingly.  
  
Leaning forward, Tottingham folded his hands together on top of the desk and glanced briefly at his notes. “We’ve got some issues to deal with, but they’re workable.”  
  
Harry took a minute to process the statement. “Sorry? What was that?”  
  
“We’re going to have to work in some extra sessions and use some pretty powerful potions, but I think we can have you ready in time for training camp. Mind, you’ll still need to continue treatment for a while even after, but you’ll get a good head start before you go and we can probably even continue while you’re away.”  
  
The words flitted around Harry’s brain like so many Snitches he couldn’t grasp. He stared at the man across the desk. “What do you mean ready in time for training camp? I’m a nutter. There’s no way they’re going to let me in the program.”  
  
“Is that what you think?” Tottingham laughed gently. “No, Potter, you’re not a nutter. In fact, you’re probably more sane than most of the witches and wizards who come through the program. If the likes of Mad-Eye Moo—”  
  
Tottingham broke off and looked down at his notes as Harry’s face went stony. “Yeah, well he died protecting me, didn’t he? Sounds pretty crazy to me.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I—” Tottingham cleared his throat and fixed a professional expression on his face. “Potter, you’ve got a condition that’s not uncommon for people who’ve been through the types of experiences you’ve had over the past few years. The Muggles have a name for it—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Nearly every Auror goes through it at some point. It goes with the territory. But we can treat it with counseling and medicinal potions, and perhaps creative use of a Pensieve. Bottom line? I see nothing in your evaluation that should keep you out of the training program… no dark arts tendencies, no multiple personalities, no criminal leanings. Especially given your history, I think you’re possibly the strongest Auror candidate I’ve seen in decades.”  
  
Harry looked at him, wide-eyed, afraid to hope that he’d heard correctly. “You’re serious?” he whispered. “You’re not having me on?”  
  
Tottingham smiled. “I’m serious.” He stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, Potter.”  
  
Still in a daze and not quite trusting his ears, Harry shook his hand and broke into his first genuine smile in weeks. “Thank you. Thank you…”  
  
***  
  
As the runt of the litter, so to speak, Ginny had had to learn early how to get what she wanted or needed, be it attention, food, or just to be left alone. But as the baby and the only girl, she had advantages her brothers didn’t. She had been able to flirt before she could walk or talk, and had decided very early that crying was mostly ineffective. She’d learned how to stand up to her brothers and give them a good fight when she had to. And, when the situation warranted, she could use logic and reason to get her way. She’d also found that these skills worked well with boys who weren’t brothers, as well as with girls and adults.  
  
Confidence was innate for Ginny. She was the first girl in seven generations of Weasleys. That made her special and she felt it. Not that she took too much advantage of it. Her brothers didn’t let it go to her head and made sure to put her in her place if she got too far out of line, but each had his own soft spot that she could tap into when she needed it. She had always felt cherished and secure, able to meet any challenge.  
  
Until she met Harry Potter.  
  
She had come downstairs one summer morning when she was almost eleven to find Harry sitting at the kitchen table. In the span of a heartbeat, she learned the meaning of the word insecurity. Her brain stopped working, her tongue wouldn’t move, her heart raced, her hands grew sweaty. All she could think to do was run. She’d never felt like that about anyone or anything. Not that Harry ever did anything to make her feel that way; he’d always been friendly and kind. But, still, it was two years before she could talk to him, and two more before she could act almost naturally when she was around him. Even then, she had to work to hide her insecurities. He brought out a side of her that she couldn’t seem to control.  
  
At first, she was simply star struck. He was THE Harry Potter. But as she spent more time around him, she was struck by the person inside the persona. He was kind and noble and brave and not at all taken with his own fame, though he was far from perfect. And she had wanted so badly for him to see her as more than just Ron’s little sister. Hermione had advised her to date other boys, to relax around him. It worked. By the time she got up the nerve to go after him in her fifth year, he had finally noticed her as a girl… and he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Those few weeks that spring had been glorious.  
  
Then the world came crashing in.  
  
Now, after nearly a year, he was coming back to her home and her old insecurities reared up like a basilisk, squeezing her insides and choking her with fear. As the date for the Grangers’s party approached, she alternated between feeling physically ill and wildly euphoric, imagining every possible scenario for seeing Harry again, then chastising herself for getting her hopes too high.  
  
The morning of the party, she threw up once before her shower and once afterward, then threw herself frantically into the preparations in an attempt to keep herself from thinking too much about the evening ahead. It didn’t work. Her emotions were on overload.  
  
By mid-afternoon, the concealment and protection charms were up around the garden (to keep the reporters out and the paparazzi from getting a clear shot), the table and chairs were in place, the decorations were complete, and the food was ready to be put into the oven when the time was right. The Ministry security agents were scheduled to arrive an hour before the guests to keep intruders at bay (the Minister had made such measures standard operating procedure whenever Harry was attending any event, public or private). Everyone would be arriving by Floo since the protection charms surrounding the house and garden wouldn’t allow anyone to Apparate directly in and no one wanted to run the gauntlet of cameras.  
  
Ginny spent the last couple of hours choosing her outfit (she changed at least a dozen times) and fixing her hair and makeup (she redid them both at least twice). Mum had to call her three times before she finally came down to set the table.  
  
She had already taken a tray of goblets outside and returned to the kitchen for plates and cutlery when she heard the whoosh in the fireplace announcing the arrival of the first guest. She turned to find Harry stepping from the grate and froze.  
  
She hadn’t seen him in weeks and the sight of him stole her breath. Dressed casually in Muggle clothing, he looked thin and tired. The shadows under his eyes emphasized their vivid green color. He looked wonderful to her. She held tightly to the chair in front of her to keep from flinging herself at him.  
  
“Hi,” he said.  
  
Her stomach twisted into knots at his smile. He seemed glad to see her. Could he really be? She looked at the table, suddenly feeling eleven years old again, tongue-tied and self-conscious.  
  
“Hi,” she said, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.  
  
“How—how’ve you been?” He sounded as nervous as she felt.  
  
“Okay. You?” She cringed at the stilted answer, but couldn’t seem to make her whirling thoughts and dry mouth coordinate well enough to do any better.  
  
“Okay, I guess.” He shrugged. “I can’t seem to find two minutes to call my own anymore.”  
  
“Yes, well—I—I suppose that’s to be expected,” she said, returning to her task with shaking hands. The silence drew out for several minutes.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, his voice shaking just a bit.  
  
She paused a moment, carefully studying the tray before responding.  
  
“Have you?”  
  
She couldn’t quite keep the note of disbelief out of her voice and turned to pull plates from the dresser. To her dismay, her discomfort was quickly turning to anger and she tried valiantly to stomp it down. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned their reunion.  
  
“Of course I have,” he said, sounding a bit surprised.  
  
Unable to stop herself, she whirled on him, struggling to keep her voice calm. “Is that so? You sound surprised… like I should know.” She turned her back on him and jerked open the silverware drawer.  
  
In the mirror overhead, she could see his eyes grow wide and his face pale. He took a tentative step toward her. “Listen, Ginny, I know it’s been a long time since we’ve talked, but there’s been so much going on and there just hasn’t been any time…”  
  
Suddenly the dam broke and the fear and longing and self-doubt and frustration that had been building inside her for nearly a year crashed forth with the force of a tidal wave.  
  
“Oh, right, I forgot. The hero of the Wizarding world can spend every waking moment with everyone else in the world, but he doesn’t have a spare minute to send an owl to someone he supposedly misses.” She slammed the drawer shut and dropped the cutlery onto the tray with a crash.  
  
“Ginny, I’m sorry… you know what it’s been like. Everyone’s all over me all of the time. And the press—they’re everywhere and nothing’s sacred to them. They watch every move I make. They’ve even intercepted some of my owls. All of my friends are fair game. You remember what happened to Hermione during the Triwizard Tournament. It’s even worse now. I don’t want that to happen to you…”  
  
“Oh, now we get to it,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “The noble hero trying to protect the damsel in distress again. You do love that role, don’t you? First, you don’t want me around because the Death Eaters will get me. Now, you don’t want me around because the reporters will. Why don’t you just come right out and say it, Harry? You just plain don’t want me around.”  
  
He moved toward her with something in his eyes that might be considered fear if she took the time to analyze it, but instead she circled the table toward the stairs to keep him from getting too close. She couldn’t bear it if he touched her and she was determined he wasn’t going to see her fall completely apart. He held out a hand toward her.  
  
“Ginny, no—you’ve got to believe me. I swear that’s not true. I’ve thought about you a lot—I’ve wanted to see you…”  
  
“Oh, come on, Harry,” she interrupted in a harsh whisper. “Give me a little credit. People  _make_  time to do what they really want to do, and you’re no different from the rest of us mere mortals, no matter what you believe.”  
  
Before he could respond, the room began to fill with people—Ron and Hermione arrived with the Grangers, and Bill and Fleur came in right behind them. Ginny took one last look at Harry—his face had become a blank mask and he had backed away from her—then dashed up the stairs so no one would see the tears she could no longer hold back. She made it to her room and got the door locked before she completely broke down, burying her face in Harry’s pillow to keep her sobs from being heard downstairs. After a few moments, the knock she was expecting came, but she didn’t respond. She knew she’d have to go down and put on a good act, but she needed a few more minutes.  
  
“Ginny?” Hermione called quietly. “Can I come in?”  
  
Ginny took a couple of deep breaths to calm her voice. “No.”  
  
“Let me in… please. I want to help.”  
  
“I’m fine, Hermione. I’ll be right down.”  
  
The silence stretched so long, Ginny thought Hermione had left until she spoke again. “You’re sure? Do you want me to wait for you?”  
  
“No—No, don’t wait. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Ginny wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.  
  
She heard Hermione’s footsteps on the stairs and turned to the mirror to assess the damage. The pretty barrettes she’d so carefully arranged in her hair only an hour ago were askew, refusing to hold the tendrils that now drooped about her face. Tear tracks and mascara drizzled down her cheeks from puffy eyes circled in crimson to match her running nose. She looked like a clown with a cold. If only she wasn’t still underage—she could do the repairs so much more quickly and effectively with magic. Maybe she should have let Hermione in. Hermione didn’t use beauty charms much, but when she did, she was brilliant with them. Too late now, Ginny sighed. She yanked the barrettes from her hair and began wiping away the damage. A cool cloth to her eyes helped with the swelling and careful application of her cosmetics covered the redness. By the time she walked into the garden twenty minutes later, she looked composed and in control.  
  
No one remarked on the scene in the kitchen, though she could feel several pairs of eyes watching her as she greeted the Grangers and cooed over baby Teddy. When it was time to eat, she quickly settled into an empty chair between her father and George with Bill and Fleur directly across, so there would be no chance she would have to sit close to Harry. He ended up on the far end of the table on the side opposite her. Not wanting to accidentally catch his eye, she kept her head down and mostly listened to the conversation flowing around her. She was grateful, as she’d never been before, to be the Weasley child designated to help serve meals, welcoming the chance to leave the table at every opportunity to fetch drinks and napkins and more food.  
  
The conversation centered mostly around Ron and Hermione’s trip to Australia via Muggle transportation. Arthur wanted to hear every minute detail and Ron, who was amazed by the novel experience, had them all in stitches over his descriptions of the inefficiencies and inconveniences of modern air travel.  
  
“Did you know they weigh your luggage? If they put too much weight on the plane it won’t fly! I didn’t want to take any chances so I put a weightless charm on my trunk and you should’ve seen the baggage handler—he thought it would be heavy when he picked it up and when it wasn’t, he nearly threw it over the plane.”  
  
Even Ginny, had to smile at his descriptions.  
  
Finally, as she and her mother began clearing the dinner dishes and serving the pudding, the talk turned to other things.  
  
“Harry,” Arthur called down the table. “Tell us about your Auror training. You leave in the morning, don’t you?”  
  
Ginny’s hand slipped on the stack of dishes she had just lifted and there was a moment of confusion as George helped her gather the forks and spoons that fell to the ground.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry said as she headed for the kitchen. “I have to leave at sunrise for introductory training. I’ll be gone for six weeks, then there’ll be three years of classes at the Ministry...”  
  
Ginny listened to the murmur of their voices through the kitchen window as she stacked the dishes on the counter. Ron had told them Harry had passed all his Auror admissions tests, she just hadn’t realized that he would have to go away so soon and for such a long time. She gave herself a shake and squared her shoulders before heading back out to gather more dishes. It didn’t matter to her that he would be gone. He was never here anyway.  
  
“…it’ll be a relief, really, to be cut off from the world for a while,” Harry was saying when she went back outside. “They want us to concentrate only on our training, so we can’t even receive mail.”  
  
Ginny gathered another load of dishes and headed back into the kitchen. She set the dishes on the counter and began running water in the sink as she watched the group outside.  
  
Harry scooped Teddy out of Andromeda’s arms and carried him to a bench apart from the others. He placed the baby on his knees, carefully supporting his head and back so that he could talk to him face-to-face. From the look on his face, Ginny guessed that he was giving Teddy assurances that he wouldn’t be gone forever, even though, at less than three months old, the boy couldn’t possibly know what he was saying. But Teddy watched Harry carefully, as if he understood every word, and began to wave his arms and kick his legs vigorously. Suddenly, his hair turned vivid green, the exact shade of Harry’s eyes. A Metamorphagus like his mother, Teddy had been changing his hair color since a few moments after he was born, but Andromeda swore that he produced that particular color only when Harry talked to him. They had formed a strong bond already.  
  
Ginny sighed as she watched them. Harry took his responsibilities as Teddy’s godfather very seriously. He would make a wonderful father some day.  
  
The sound of the back door closing made her jump out of her thoughts.  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Hermione said as she set down the load of dishes she was carrying.  
  
“No problem. Thanks for bringing those in,” Ginny said. “I bet you’re glad your parents are home.”  
  
“Yes, I’ve really missed them. I’m leaving in the morning to spend a couple of weeks with them. You’ll have to make sure Ron stays out of trouble while I’m gone.”  
  
Ginny gave a little laugh. “Yeah, well, good luck with that.” Her smile faded as she saw a determined look steal over Hermione’s face.  
  
Hermione got right to the point. “Ginny, why won’t you talk to Harry?”  
  
Ginny concentrated on putting the dishes into the soapy water. “I’m not the one who hasn’t been talking,” she muttered.  
  
Hermione came to stand next to her. “I’ve been watching you. You’ve been avoiding him for weeks.”  
  
Ginny gave her a sharp look. “Avoiding him? Hermione, how could I possibly be avoiding him? He’s never around. And when we do happen to be in the same place at the same time, there are about a million other people there, too. I couldn’t get close enough to avoid him if I wanted to.” She attacked a plate with her scrub brush much more vigorously than required to get it clean.  
  
“But, Ginny, you know how it’s been…”  
  
Ginny tilted her head defiantly, finally losing the tenuous grasp on her temper. She kept her voice low, but it was filled with rage and frustration. “Oh, don’t you give me that rubbish about him being busy and everyone demanding his time. It’s been two months, Hermione. He hasn’t once—not once—made an effort to see me, to talk to me, to contact me in any way. Seems to me, I’m not the one doing the avoiding. People do what they want to do, and he apparently doesn’t want to talk to me.”  
  
“Ginny, give him a break! He’s been going through hell since the war. On top of all the media hype, he’s not sleeping and he’s having nightmares—”  
  
Ginny held up a soapy hand to cut her off. “You know what, Hermione? My life hasn’t exactly been a stroll in the park lately, either. My brother died. He died! And my family’s having a hard time moving on and I’m doing everything I can to support them. I’m sorry Harry’s having a hard time, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. He’s had plenty of time to get in touch with me if he really wanted to. Why do I always have to be the one he pushes out of the way?”  
  
“Ginny, that’s not fair!”  
  
“Yeah, well, life’s just not fair, is it?”  
  
“Gin–“  
  
“I have a headache,” Ginny interrupted as she dried her hands with jerky moves and flung the towel on the counter. “Would you make my excuses to your parents? I hope you enjoy your visit with them.”  
  
She turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Hermione with her mouth hanging open.  
  
***  
  
Ginny sat in her pajamas on her bed in the dark, listening through the open window to the sounds of the party breaking up below. She pretended to be asleep when Molly checked on her a half-hour later, but once the house had settled, she moved over to her window seat and stared at the stars as she replayed the evening’s events in her head.  
  
How could she have been so heartless? It was bad enough that she’d lost it in front of Harry, but then, to say the things she’d said to Hermione…  
  
She groaned, hating who she’d become. How had she become so totally selfish and unreasonable?  
  
The answer was obvious. She’d allowed her hopes to get too high, her fantasies to become her reality. Harry, who had his own worries, had been perfectly friendly to her tonight and, wanting—expecting—more, she’d acted like a raving banshee.  
  
He’d made no promises when he’d broken up with her last year. She’d waited for him, sure that he would come back to her—but, now, she was equally sure he wasn’t coming back. At least not the way she wanted him to. Apparently, her earlier fears had come true—he wanted only to be her friend.  
  
That was the thing about Harry—he was basically a kind person. He just didn’t have it in him to be unkind, even to those who deserved it. Didn’t he save Draco Malfoy’s life twice in one day? He’d even given Voldemort a last chance at redemption. And, now—now he was being kind to her.  
  
She dropped her head into his pillow to muffle her involuntary cry of pain.  
  
After having had a taste of being more than friends, she wasn’t sure she could go back. One part of her wanted him in her life on any terms, at any cost. The other part was screaming for her to cut him out—cut her heart out—so the pain would stop. The battle between hope and pride raged for hours until she finally decided what to do.  
  
The letter was short, but it took her ten tries to get it right and free of tearstains:  
  


> >   
> _Dear Harry,_   
> _I want to apologize for last night. As you said, things have been crazy and I’m still struggling over Fred’s death. But, these are my problems and they have nothing to do with you. I’m sorry for taking them out on you. Good luck with your Auror training. I hope we can be friends when you return._   
> 
>> 
>> _Ginny_

  
  
She tiptoed up the stairs to Ron’s room, thankful that he’d gone home with Hermione and her parents for the night. She quietly lifted the cover from Pidgewidgeon’s cage, sending the tiny owl into an excited frenzy of hoots and feathers.  
  
“Pig, hush,” she whispered. “You’re going to wake everyone up. This has to be a secret.”  
  
The owl immediately settled onto her finger and quivered with anticipation as she secured the note to his leg.  
  
“Now, take this to Harry at Grimmauld Place. Don’t give it to anyone else. And, you have to get there before daybreak or he’ll be gone.”  
  
Pig hopped in place, bobbing his head to let her know he’d understood. He took off in a flash when she opened the window. She watched the sky long after he’d disappeared, hoping that the letter would allow her to get on with life.


	3. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Harry is away, George, Ron, and Ginny reopen the joke shop and Ginny renews her friendship with Dean.

When Ginny came down for breakfast the next morning, Ron was sitting at the table reading the  _Daily Prophet_.  
  
“Hey, when did you get back?” she asked.  
  
“Few minutes ago,” he said around a mouthful of toast. “Can you believe it? They did a front-page story on Harry leaving for Auror training. When are they going to start reporting real news again?”  
  
“Not in the foreseable future, I'd wager,” Ginny said as she got the cereal out of the cupboard. She sat down next to Ron and filled her bowl.  
  
He put the paper down and looked at her. “Are you okay?”  
  
The question startled her, and she slopped milk on the table. Surely he hadn't noticed on his own that she looked like she hadn't slept in a month. Hermione must've said something to him.

Making a project out of wiping up her mess, Ginny kept her eyes on her job while she lied, “I’m fine. Why?”  
  
“I dunno. You just seem kind of… well, quiet lately.”  
  
Ginny walked to the sink with the wet rag so he couldn’t see her face. “Yeah, well, my brother died. Kind of puts a damper on life, don’t you think?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess so.” He looked at her skeptically before turning back to his newspaper.  
  
They ate in silence for a few minutes while Ron casually flipped the pages.  
  
“So, what are you going to do while Hermione’s gone,” she finally asked.  
  
“George and I are going to reopen the joke shop.”  
  
Ginny gave him a look of concern. “He told me you had talked about it. Is he ready?”  
  
“Probably not, but I think he needs to do it. He thinks it’s what Fred would want. That’s why I didn’t go into Auror training with Harry, you know. I thought George needed me more right now.”  
  
Ginny looked at Ron carefully. He didn’t look much different on the surface, but now that she was paying proper attention, she could see the maturity in his eyes. He, too, had grown up in the past year. Impulsively, she jumped up and gave him a hug. “You’re a good man, Ron.”  
  
“Er, thanks.” He flushed scarlet at the praise and nervously closed the paper. “Hey, we wanted to ask you… how would you like to come work with us until school starts? We could use an extra pair of hands to get everything ready. We won’t be able to pay much at first, but it’ll give you a little extra spending money.”  
  
Ginny’s eyes widened. “Oh, could I? That would be great! I don’t even really care about the money that much. It’ll be nice to have something to do besides sit around the house for the rest of the summer.”  
  
“Oh, well, if you’re willing to do it for free…”  
  
She punched him in the arm. “I said I didn’t care that much. Not that I’d do it for free.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. You’re such a tease,” he said, trying not to grin.  
  
“I guess I better go and talk to Mum,” Ginny said.  
  
“No need. George already asked her, and she says it’s fine.”  
  
She flashed him a huge smile. “When do we start?”  
  
“I’m leaving in a few minutes. You can Side-Along with me. We’ll get you a portkey later so you can come on your own when I’m not here.”  
  
“Wow, you’ve really worked everything out, haven’t you?”  
  
“That’s me. Mr. Organization.” He swatted at her when she snorted with disbelief.  
  
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” he said as he tossed an envelope onto the table in front of her. “Pig brought you a letter.”  
  
She blinked at it in surprise.  
  
“Looks like it’s from Harry,” Ron said as he took his dishes to the sink. “He must’ve sent it before he left this morning.”  
  
“Yeah,” she murmured nervously. “He must’ve.”  
  
She stared at the parchment for several minutes after Ron left the room, trying to decide whether or not to read it. She finally lifted the seal gingerly, half expecting it to disappear or explode or something when she touched it.  


 

 

_I wish I had more time to write. We’ll talk when I get home. I promise._

_— Harry_

“Well, that was informative,” she muttered.

“What’d he have to say?” She hadn’t heard Ron come back.

She tucked the note into her pocket. “Nothing important. Actually, nothing at all. I don’t know why he bothered to waste the ink.”

“Well, I’m ready when you are,” Ron said.

“MU-UM,” she bellowed loudly enough to wake the ghoul in the attic. “I’M GOING WITH RON.”

“Geez, watch the ear,” Ron complained. “Where’d you learn to yell like that?”

“From my fabulous brothers, of course,” she smiled as she followed him out the door to get beyond the protective charms so they could Disapparate.

***

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had been closed for three months, and it took Ginny, Ron, and George two weeks to clear the dust and cobwebs, take inventory, and restock the shelves. The project was bittersweet.

Almost daily at first, George would abruptly stop what he was doing and either dash up the steps to his flat above or duck outside for a walk down Diagon Alley. Once, he crumpled to the floor, sobbing hopelessly as he clutched a box of Puking Pastilles, one of the first products he and Fred had developed.

Ron had his own moments when the memories would catch him unaware. Ginny often saw him wiping his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

She struggled with her own demons. Some mornings, she found the cloud of grief and depression almost too much to bear and longed to burrow under the covers and wait for the world to go away. But the knowledge that George and Ron needed her kept her from doing so.

In spite of their moments of overwhelming grief, the three of them got through it together. By the time the store was ready to open, they all felt emotionally wrung out but ready to move forward.

The street party to celebrate the grand re-opening—George said Fred would’ve wanted a big bang—was complete with fireworks, music, and lots of food. All of the Weasleys and Hermione were on hand to help, and friends from all over showed up to join the fun.

About an hour into the festivities, Ginny slammed her empty snack tray onto the table. “If one more person asks me where Harry is I’m going to hit them with a Bat Bogey Hex.”

Hermione smiled as she began reloading the tray. “You can’t use magic out of school, yet.”

“Fine!” Ginny said. “I’ll just hit them with my tray, then.”

Hermione laughed. “I know what you mean. You’d think everyone would read the  _Prophet_  if they’re that interested.”

“Hey, Ginny,” a new voice behind them said with a teasing tone. “Where’s Harry?”

Ginny whirled to attack, then squealed with delight. “Dean! Seamus! How are you?” She ran around the table to give each of them a hug. “Where have you been? What have you been up to this summer?”

“My family’s been getting settled into a new place,” Dean said. “The Death Eaters destroyed our old one and they’ve been living in a shelter. We finally found a flat close to here. I got a job at Flourish and Blotts for the summer, you know, to help out with expenses.”

“I’m working here with George and Ron this summer. We’ll have to get together for lunch sometime,” Ginny said. “What about you, Seamus? How is your family?”

“Me parents had to go into hiding during the war,” Seamus said. “Luckily our house was still standing, so we’re doing okay. But, guess what the best news is?” He looked at Dean, then back at Ginny and broke into a big grin. “We’re going back to Hogwarts this year.”

“Back to Hogwarts?” Ginny’s eyes grew wide. “But how? Why?”

“We got a letter from McGonagall,” Dean said. “She said since we didn’t get to finish our seventh year and do our N.E.W.T.s, we could come back this year. She’s letting everyone who was—or should’ve been—in seventh year last year do it.”

“Yeah,” Seamus said. “Dean didn’t get to come at all and I only got to do half of the year and we didn’t get to take our tests. Without our N.E.W.T.s, we don’t stand a chance of getting decent jobs, so we’re going back. Neville and Lavender and Pavarti are coming, too.”

“Oh, wow, that’s great!” Ginny said. “We’ll have all of the old crowd back, then. Of course, we won’t need the D.A. this year…”

“No, but we’ll have Quidditch,” Dean said.

“That’s right!” Ginny said, clapping her hands with glee.

“Here, Ginny, I think the masses are hungry,” Hermione said, handing Ginny the reloaded tray.

“Yeah, Ginny, get out there and earn that huge salary I’m paying you,” George said as he brought out another crate of Butterbeer. “The fireworks are starting soon, guys,” he told Dean and Seamus. “You’ll want to go find a good spot to watch.”

Ginny waved goodbye to the boys and headed into the crowd feeling more lighthearted than she had in weeks.

***

Working at the shop proved to be just the thing Ginny needed to get her mind off her troubles. She found she was quite good at helping customers, stocking shelves, checking in inventory, and tallying the day’s receipts. And, she enjoyed seeing her school friends who dropped by to make a purchase or just visit.

But, even more, she treasured the time she got to spend with her brothers. The three of them worked well together, and joining forces to get the shop going again seemed to help George finally come to terms with his loss. He would always be just a shadow of the person he was before Fred’s death—more somber and serious—but he was getting better every day and Ginny was glad they had grown closer through the journey.

Most days, Hermione would come from her job at the Ministry to have lunch with Ron. Some days they would invite Ginny or George to join them, leaving one person behind to run the shop. And on days when business was slow, they would close the shop and all four of them would go and eat together. Several times a week, Dean would come during his break and Ginny would go with him for ice cream at Fortescue’s. (Fortescue had been killed during the war, but his son had reopened the shop in recent weeks.) Ron always seemed irritated and tried to make sure she was extra busy when Dean showed up, but she didn’t let it bother her too much and would often just slip out when Ron wasn’t looking.

Though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, the biggest advantage she’d found in working at the shop was that she could go for longer periods each day without thinking of Harry. Of course, the longer periods were measured in minutes rather than hours, but it was progress and gave her the feeling that, in time, she really could move on with her life.

On the first day of August, Ginny was setting up a display of love potions when the owl arrived with her school letter. She tucked it into her pocket without much thought, planning to look at it when she finished what she was doing. But, within moments, Dean burst through the door.

“Ginny!” he skidded to a stop and bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “Did you get your letter? You’ll never guess…”

“Slow down. What’s happened?”

He took a couple of deep breaths and looked up at her. “Look!” With a grin, he held up a Quidditch Captain’s badge.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!”

“But that’s not all…” He gulped in more air. “I just saw Luna. Neville got Head Boy. And, I bet I know who the Head Girl is…”

Ginny gave him a puzzled look. “Who?”

“Have you opened your letter?”

“No…” She began to see what he was getting at.

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Open it,” he said excitedly.

Ginny pulled the envelope from her pocket with a shaking hand and broke the seal. The shiny badge slid into her palm.

“I knew it!” Dean shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

With a squeal, Ginny threw her arms around Dean’s neck. He wrapped her in a hug and spun them around. Then, before she realized what was happening, he was kissing her… and she was kissing him back.

“Oi! What’s going on out here?” Ron was coming at them from the back room looking like a deranged hippogriff.

Dean released Ginny immediately, looking as surprised at the turn of events as she felt. Ron looked ready to punch him, so Ginny quickly stepped between them.

“Look!” she said, grinning hugely as she held the badge up for Ron to see.

The range of emotion that crossed his face was comical. He went from furious to confused to ecstatic in the space of three seconds, then jumped in the air with a great whoop.

“George! Get out here, George! Ginny’s Head Girl!”

George came running from the back room and twirled Ginny around in a bear hug, knocking over the display she’d just spent an hour putting together. Several amused customers who’d been watching the drama, cheered right along with them.

“Oh, no! Look at the mess. I’ll never get this cleaned up,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time.

“No need, baby sister. You’ve earned yourself an afternoon off. Get your portkey. I’ll charm it so you can go home now and give Mum the good news.”

She gave her brothers a hug and turned to Dean. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure,” he said, backing toward the door. “The ice cream’s on me.”

Ginny saw Ron’s glare, but waved with a smile. “I’ll hold you to it.”

When she appeared moments later in the kitchen at the Burrow, Molly Weasley dropped her basket of laundry and gave a yelp.

“Good heavens, Ginevra! You nearly frightened me to death. What are you doing home in the middle of the day?”

Ginny threw her arms around her mother. “I got my school letter. Guess who’s Head Girl this year?”

Molly took a moment to process the words, then burst into tears.

Ginny stepped back in surprise. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy…”

“Oh, I am, dear, I am…” Molly sobbed. “It’s too much. It’s just too much.”

Confused, Ginny put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Don’t cry, Mum. What’s too much?”

“Oh, it’s just all these good things happening after so much bad. First, George and Ron opening the shop, and then Ron and Hermione, and now you’re Head Girl…”

Ginny leaned back to look into her mother’s face. “Wait a minute. Ron and Hermione? What’s going on with Ron and Hermione?”

Molly freed herself from Ginny’s embrace to pull a handkerchief from her pocket. “Oh, nothing, dear.” She blew her nose loudly then stooped to pick up the fallen laundry. “Just that they finally got together, you know. We’re just so happy for them.”

Ginny put her hands on her hips and watched her mother’s agitated movements for a moment. “You’re hiding something, Mum. What is it?”

“Hiding something? Of course I’m not hiding anything. How silly. What would I be hiding?”

“I don’t know, but you’re the worst secret keeper in the world and I can tell you’re hiding something. Come on. Tell me.”

“No, no. I can’t. I promised. And if you say anything to your brother I’ll ground you for a year.”

“Muu-uum,” Ginny wheedled. “Come on! You can’t tell me you’ve got a secret, then not tell me what it is. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

“No, Ginevra, I will not tell you,” Molly said firmly as she put the refilled basket on the table and sat down in a nearby chair. “Now. Tell me what gift you’d like for being named Head Girl. We got Percy an owl. Ron got a broom for being Prefect…”

Ginny wasn’t ready to drop the subject of Ron and Hermione, but she decided she would bide her time and get the information in a more subtle manner later.

“A broom would be nice since we’re going to have Quidditch again this year.”

“Then a broom it will be,” said Molly with a smile. “And now, since you’re home early, why don’t we spend the afternoon planning your birthday party?”

“Birthday party? What’s to plan? We’ll just be doing the family thing, won’t we?”

“Well, your father and I talked about it and we decided since it’s your seventeenth and since this is the last time we’ll have a child come of age, that we should make it a big celebration.” She dabbed her eyes and smiled. “We need more celebrations this year, don’t you think? And with you being named Head Girl that’s all the more reason to do it up right.”

Ginny sat down in Molly’s lap and laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I love you, Mum. I’m so glad to be part of this family.”

Molly wrapped her arms around her daughter and they sat there for quite a while.

***

Supper that night became a party in itself. Bill and Fleur came. Arthur, Percy, and Hermione all arrived together from the Ministry. Charlie even sent an owl with a congratulatory card in the shape of a dragon that sang and danced and spit sparks across the table. Molly cooked all of Ginny’s favorite dishes and George bought an ice cream cake from Fortescue’s that had premium Honeydukes chocolates hidden inside and icing that changed colors every time a slice was cut.

Throughout the meal, the conversation kept returning to Ginny’s birthday party. They had decided, since her birthday was in the middle of the week, to hold the party on the following Saturday, two weeks away.

“Who are we going to invite?” Ron asked.

“I’ve got the list right here,” Molly said settling her glasses on her nose. “Let’s see, we’ve got all of the family and all the kids who were in Dumbledore’s Army. That’s about forty people right there. Then, there’s Andromeda and Teddy, Minerva McGonagall—I thought that was only right after all she’s done for us—and Hagrid, and… oh yes, and Harry. Of course, he’s really family so I already counted him.”

Ginny concentrated on picking the chocolates out of her cake. She’d been thinking about it all afternoon and finally made up her mind.

“Mum?” she said quietly.

“Yes, dear?” Molly said distractedly as she began gathering up the empty dishes.

“Would it be—” Ginny hesitated and cast a pleading look at her mother. “Would it be a really bad thing—um, if—well, if we—” She drew a deep breath and plunged ahead. “—if we didn’t invite Harry?”

The room was instantly silent.

She toyed with her cake, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. “I mean—it’s not that I don’t want him to come but—well—I’m sure he has more important things to do and—well—” she drew another deep breath and began talking faster to get it over with. “If we invite him, he’ll feel obligated to come and I can’t imagine that he’d really want to. And besides, if he comes, we’ll have to have the security guards and the media will be here and—and it—it won’t really be my party any more.”

The room was deathly still. Ginny chanced a look around the table through her lashes. Molly was staring at her as if she’d suddenly turned Metamorphagus and grown a different nose. Ron and Hermione were frowning at each other, communicating silently with their eyes. Everyone else had developed an all-consuming interest in the cake on their plates.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m being selfish, aren’t I?”

After a moment, Hermione spoke gently. “No, Ginny, you’re not being selfish. You’re being realistic. I think you’re right about it becoming a circus. But, you know that’s not really Harry’s fault—you know he would change it if he could. And, I think you’re wrong about him not wanting to come. In fact, I know you’re wrong. He would want to be here… unless—unless you didn’t want him to be.”

Ginny swirled her fork through the puddle of ice cream and soggy cake on her plate, watching the remnants of icing change color with every pass.

“I know it’s not his fault,” Ginny said finally in a resigned tone, keeping her eyes on her cake. “Of course, we have to invite him. Forget I mentioned it.”

Like an Impedimenta Charm that had been cancelled, the activity in the room returned to normal in slow motion. Molly resumed collecting dishes and the conversation turned to other topics, but the celebratory mood had been broken. Ginny saw Ron and Hermione whispering in the corner. Everyone else seemed to be treating her as if she might break with the slightest touch. While the evening was still young, the non-residents of the Burrow departed.

Ginny went to bed miserable. Staring at the moonlit ceiling, she let the events of the day play back through her head. She'd almost forgotten the kiss with Dean. So not only had she made a fool of herself in front of her whole family, she also had to figure out what to make of him.

***

On Monday, Hermione arrived right on schedule for lunch. She gave Ron a quick kiss, then grabbed Ginny by the hand. “Come on, we’re having a girls-only lunch today.”

As Hermione pulled her out the door, Ginny looked back to see Ron grin and wave—they had planned this ambush.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” Hermione asked innocently. “Why don’t we try that new little café down the street so we can sit outside?”

Ginny didn’t answer, but allowed herself to be led along. Once they were settled with drinks and had placed their orders, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and waited.

Hermione took a sip from her glass and gave Ginny an assessing look. “So. What’s going on?”

Ginny gave her a wicked smile. “Oh, let’s see... I’m having fun working at the shop with Ron and George... I’ve been named Head Girl… My birthday is next week...”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Cute. You know what I mean. What’s going on with you and Dean?”

Ginny blushed. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah. That.”

Ginny concentrated on carefully arranging her cutlery. “We got caught up in the moment. No big deal, really.”

“No big deal.” Hermione eyed her speculatively. “But you’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately. Do you think it might become a big deal?”

Ginny stirred her drink with her straw and shrugged. “I don’t know…” she said without looking up. “We’re just friends… but, I guess we could have another go at it. I mean, we’ve both grown up a lot in the past year and…”

“But you haven’t made any promises to him yet?”

Ginny looked up in surprise at Hermione’s worried tone.

“Well, no, but… I haven’t really thought about it much...”

Ginny broke off as the waiter brought their food. When he left, Hermione picked up her napkin and began worrying the corner.

“I think…” she started, and cleared her throat. “I think you shouldn’t rush into anything, Ginny.”

“Rush into anything? Like what?”

“Well, like anything with Dean.”

Ginny put down her fork. “Hermione, whatever it is you want to say, would you please just spit it out?”

Hermione sat up straight and gave Ginny a direct look. “It’s just that you shouldn’t make any major decisions until Harry gets back.”

Ginny would’ve choked if she’d had anything in her mouth. She goggled at Hermione in disbelief.

“And, what kind of decisions shouldn’t I be making that Harry would even care about? I told you before, he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“You’re wrong, Ginny.”

“How do you know?” Ginny was losing patience. “Did he say something to you before he left?”

“No, but…”

“Did he ever tell you he wanted to get back together with me?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Did he mention my name even once while you were on the run last year?”

Hermione fidgeted and dropped her eyes. “No…” she murmured almost inaudibly.

“Right. So, I’m supposed to put my whole life on hold on the off chance that Harry Potter might one day decide he wants me to be part of his life again? Well, that makes perfect sense to me.” She could’ve spread the sarcasm on her roll.

Hermione rubbed her hand across her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I’m only trying to help…”

Ginny blinked several times to push back the rush of moisture in her eyes. “Well, it doesn’t help to get my hopes up. I’ve waited for him for over a year, Hermione. He’s not coming back.”

Hermione reached across the table to take her hand. “Ginny, please. I know Harry… I just—I just think you should wait. Just a little longer…”

“I can’t wait anymore. I just can’t.” Ginny snatched her hand away and stood up. She knew she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite of her untouched lunch. “I’ve got to get back.”

She took a step away from the table then whirled back, suddenly realizing how much she’d given away. “Swear to me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone—not Ron and especially not Harry.”

Hermione looked up with pleading eyes. “Ginny…”

“Swear it!” Ginny said.

Hermione dropped her eyes and nodded in defeat. “Okay. I won’t say anything. But, I still think…”

“Thank you,” Ginny cut her off quietly. “Listen. I know you mean well, but…” She gave Hermione a quick hug and headed back to the shop.

***

The next day, Ginny and Dean had just settled into their favorite spot behind the potted palm at Fortescue’s and spooned up the first bites of their sundaes when the bell over the shop door tinkled to announce a new customer.

Dean stopped mid-bite and groaned. “Oh no!”

Tucked under the palm as she was, Ginny couldn’t see or be seen from the door. “What? Who is it?”

Before he could answer, she heard a familiar voice

“Dean! Fancy meeting you here—oh,” Parvati Patil’s smile had frozen on her face when she moved past the palm enough to see Ginny. Behind her, Lavender Brown’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Er, hi, Ginny.”

“Hi, Parvati. Lavender.” Ginny gave them a welcoming smile.  “How good to see you. Would you like to join us?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Parvati gave him a questioning look. With a strained smile, he stood to offer her his seat. “Yes, please sit down,” he said as he slipped into the chair next to Ginny.

Parvati frowned briefly as she and Lavender sat down, but she immediately looked at Ginny with a pleasant expression. “How has your summer been? I see you’re working with your brother. I bet you’ll be glad to get back to school so you won’t have to wear those macky old robes anymore."

Ginny glanced down at her magenta-colored staff robe and back at Parvati in surprise. Although, the comment had been made in the most pleasant of tones, Ginny sensed something unspoken was going on. She immediately grinned, but began watching Parvati carefully. “Oh, these old things? They’re all right. Makes us stand out from the customers. So, how has your summer been?”

“It's been good. My family came out okay from the war. We got back a couple of weeks ago from visiting my grandparents in New Delhi.”

“What about you, Lavender?” Ginny asked. “How is your shoulder?”

Lavender had been absently rubbing her shoulder, but stopped at Ginny’s question. “It’s fine. Just aches a bit around the full moon.”

“Yeah, Bill’s mentioned that about his scars, too.”

“That’s right,” Lavender said. “I’d forgot that he was injured by Greyback, too. I guess we were both lucky not to be attacked during the full moon.”

“Yes—” Ginny said, but stopped when Parvati interrupted, obviously trying to turn the conversation in a different direction.

“So, Dean,” Parvati said, scooting her chair a bit closer to him and running her fingers through her hair as she gave him a brilliant smile. “I was going to come and see you at the shop. I have tickets for the Weird Sisters concert Saturday night and wanted to see if you would come with me.”

“Oh, wow—er, gee, Parvati. The Weird Sisters. That’s great, but I’m sorry. I—uh—I already have other plans.”

Ginny bit back a smile as she watched him squirm.

Parvati leaned a little closer and stroked her hand along his arm. “You can get out of it, can’t you? This concert’s been sold out for months. Surely, whatever else you have to do can wait.”

Dean cast Ginny a look she recognized well—the kind of look she’d received from her brothers for years. A look that plainly said, “Please play along and you’ll be rewarded later.” As she'd learned to do over the years, she lowered her eyes so her surprise at what was to come wouldn’t show. She was glad she did when Dean laced his fingers through hers on the table top.

“No, I can’t, Parvati. I promised Ginny I’d take her to the Muggle cinema for her birthday. Saturday night is the only night we can both go and the last night the film is playing.” He shrugged regretfully. “Sorry.”

Ginny smoothed her features and gave Parvati her best apologetic look. Parvati wasn’t so quick and Ginny saw the venomous stare before it was replaced with a pleasant smile. “Oh, well, that sounds like fun. I’m sorry you won’t be able to go to the concert. I guess I’ll just have to catch you up later, then.” She turned to Lavender. “We’d better go. Padma will think we’ve got lost.”

The two girls left amid a rustle of shopping bags and promises to talk again soon. When the door closed behind them, Ginny lifted a questioning eyebrow at Dean.

“What was that all about?”

He let out a huge sigh and dropped his head into his hand. “She’s driving me absolutely mental. She’s been hanging around the shop every day since she got back into town, trying to get me to go out with her. My boss has already run her off several times, but she keeps buying stuff so she can say she’s shopping.”

“I didn’t realize you don’t like Parvati,” Ginny said, easing her hand from Dean’s so she could eat her melting ice cream.

“I like her fine. It's just—I don't know.”

“Why don’t you just go out with her to get her off your back?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If that would do it, I would. But I’m afraid it would just encourage her. She’s just so—so—”

“Aggressive?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He looked at her sheepishly. “Thanks for not giving me away.”

“Oh, no worries,” Ginny said with a wicked smile. “I get a trip to the cinema out of it. What film are we seeing?”

Dean’s face lit up. “You mean you really want to go? I was thinking of asking you, but I wasn’t sure, what with Harry coming ba—”

He stopped as the smile went out of her eyes and she began concentrating on her ice cream. She’d almost put it out of her mind. Harry would be back by Saturday and Mum would certainly invite him to supper. This might actually be a brilliant stroke of luck.

She raised her eyes and smiled warmly at Dean. “I’d love to go.”

***

With the delivery of the school letters, shoppers flocked to Diagon Alley and many of them came in to Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. Even though nothing in the store could be found on the school supply list, most students considered such purchases essential before heading back to Hogwarts.

Ginny and Dean found it harder to find time for their afternoon ice cream break, but they did manage to get together at least once during the week. She liked Dean and looked forward to seeing him when time allowed, but she was relieved that he never mentioned their celebratory kiss. She still hadn’t worked out what she thought of it. Under different circumstances she might be willing to have another go at a relationship with him, but she was unwilling to give him—or anyone—false hope, no matter what she had told Hermione. Her heart wasn’t hers to give.

The influx of customers didn’t allow Ginny much time to dwell on her troubles and she welcomed the distraction. More and more of her friends came into the shop and she threw herself into the growing excitement of the coming school year. As the week flew by, she worked hard at not thinking about Harry 's return Friday evening. That she would see him again, and soon, was inevitable, and she was already dreading it. She wasn’t sure if she could keep up the charade of friendship for very long. What a relief that she could soon leave for school.

Ginny got up on Saturday under a cloud of doom. She dressed carefully and practiced happy expressions in the mirror so she could recreate them later, then headed downstairs, completely unconvinced that she could pull it off. As she reached the bottom step, she saw Ron in his usual spot reading the Daily Prophet—Hermione was definitely wearing off on him.

“Oh, no,” Ron groaned.

Molly stopped putting dishes in the cupboard and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, dear,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked as she went in search of breakfast.

Ron jumped at the sound of her voice and quickly folded the paper.

“Morning, dear,” Molly said, looking worriedly at Ron before resuming her task.

“Oh, um, nothing, really. The Ministry…you know… up to their old tricks,” Ron mumbled.

“Mmm,” Ginny said as she stuck her head in the fridge. “Not anything in Hermione’s department, is it? She said they were going to make some changes.”

“No,” he responded distractedly. “Hey, uh, can we go? I need to get in early today to check in that new inventory.”

“Sure, soon as I finish eating.”

“Good, I’ll be right back down,” he said as he headed for the steps, carrying the folded Prophet close to his side.

“Hey, can you leave the paper?” she asked as she set her bowl on the table.

He looked down at it as if he hadn’t realized he was still holding it. “Ah… there’s nothing important in it and—er—you really don’t have time to read it anyway. We need to get going.”

Ginny stopped chewing and looked at him suspiciously. She knew when he was trying to hide something. His ears were almost purple. He caught her look and started up the stairs.

“Ron!”

He stopped on the second step and looked to his mother for help.

“Let me see it,” Ginny demanded quietly.

Molly shook her head at Ron. “You might as well show her. She’s going to see it somewhere else and it might not be as… convenient.”

Ginny carefully laid her spoon down and stood as Ron handed her the paper. She slowly spread it open on the table. The top half of the page was filled with a picture of Harry at the front of a group of people wearing Auror trainee robes walking through the atrium at the Ministry. A beautiful girl with long, blonde hair and bright expressive eyes gazed adoringly up at him, her hand resting possessively on his arm. He laughed down at her as if they had just shared a private joke.

The sound of rushing wind filled Ginny’s ears and she suddenly felt as if she had stepped out of herself to watch the scene from above. She could see Ron and her mother casting nervous glances at each other and her own impassive face studying the photo and reading the caption:

 

>  
> 
>  _Harry Potter arrived back in London last evening after six weeks of intensive Auror training. Our beloved Voldemort Vanquisher seems to have been studying more than fighting techniques during his time away. Fellow trainee Daphne Darling—and what a darling she is—appears to have captured his attention. Could the Chosen One have chosen someone? That noise you hear is the sound of hearts breaking all over Britain._

  
Ginny felt the icy calm settle over her as the final vestige of hope in her heart released its tenuous hold on life and breathed its last. She felt numb. But, amazingly, her mind was clear and she felt more in control than she had in months.

She watched herself casually refold the paper and turn toward Ron.

“I guess we’d better get going if you want to get there early. See you this evening, Mum,” she said as kissed her mother on the cheek, then headed for the door.

Molly’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and the furrow between her brows deepened. “Have a good day, dears.”


	4. A Failure to Communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is back and ready to talk to Ginny, but is it too late?

Harry opened his eyes and wondered for a moment where he was. Ah, yes…home. He rolled over and snuggled into the pillow, enjoying the luxury of not having to operate on someone else’s schedule, even though it was still an ungodly early hour to be awake. The sun had yet to make an appearance; his internal clock was still running on training camp time.  
  
Just as he got comfortable, the events of the evening before played over in his head and he groaned at the memory…   
  
Their arrival at the Ministry had been unannounced, so he hadn’t paid much attention to the reporter standing across the room interviewing some minor dignitary. Just one more meeting and he would be free for a whole week until classes began.   
  
As usual, Daphne had been chattering incessantly. He’d tuned her out, wondering if he could find Mr. Weasley and wangle an invitation to supper. When she’d put her hand on his arm to get his attention, he had looked at her and smiled absently at whatever nonsense she was on about. The camera flash took him by surprise.   
  
He had forgotten the first rule of becoming a good Auror—constant vigilance! Six weeks out of the spotlight had lulled him into complacency and he’d handed the photographer what he was sure was a golden photo op on a silver platter.  
  
Shaking his head to clear the memory, he felt for his glasses on the night table. He needed to assess the damage. Was his subscription to the _Prophet_  still current?  
  
“Kreacher?” he whispered quietly into the dark.  
  
The ancient elf appeared with a pop. “Welcome back, Master Harry. Would you like your breakfast in bed this morning?”  
  
“No, I’ll come down in a bit. I was wondering if we’re still getting the  _Daily Prophet_?”  
  
“Oh, yes, Master Harry. The owl has just arrived. I’ll bring it right up.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“You’re quite welcome, sir,” he bowed deeply, the locket around his neck trailing the floor. “Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Potter.”  
  
Harry shook his head in wonder as Kreacher popped out, still amazed at the change in the once-hostile house elf.  
  
Moments later, Harry groaned even louder than before as he spread the paper across his knees. It was worse than he’d thought. The newspaper was up to its old tricks—he just hoped the people who knew him would realize that. He flopped back down into his pillows.  
  
Of course, the biggest problem would be Daphne. She’d nearly driven him around the bend with her aggressive pursuit during training camp, but in the spirit of camaraderie, he’d tried to be diplomatic in avoiding her advances. She didn’t take hints. This photo might not be her doing, but he had no doubt she would make the most of it.  
  
And then there was Ginny. What would she make of it? Could he get to her before she saw it? He peered through the crack in the draperies. Still too early to make an appearance at the Burrow. Now he wished that he’d gone last night. By the time their training meeting was over, Mr. Weasley had left and it was getting late. Harry had debated surprising them with a visit, but in the end had decided he shouldn’t go when he was tired—and he was bone weary after the six weeks of training. He needed to be well rested when he saw Ginny. They hadn’t left things on such good terms, but he felt certain if he could just talk to her they could work it out. He just needed to be able to think straight.  
  
Ginny. He closed his eyes and smiled as he shifted himself more comfortably under the covers. If just the thought of her could produce that kind of reaction, he was going to be in trouble when he saw her in person.   
  
When he finally wandered into the kitchen after lingering indulgently in his fantasies longer than he’d meant to, Fleur was standing at the table stirring a cup of tea.  
  
“’Arry! Welcome back!” She wrapped him in an enthusiastic hug and launched into a report of the mail he needed to answer and the appearance requests she was considering for him.   
  
He listened with half an ear, managing to nod, grunt, and ask appropriate questions in the right places while Kreacher put enough food for three people in front of him. He was grateful for their attention to his needs, but his mind was going through his own list of important things to do. He wanted to go to Gringott’s and set up an account for Bill and Fleur. They had refused to let him pay her when she first started handling the mail and appearances, but he wasn’t going to take no for an answer any longer. She was working full time as his publicist and she deserved a decent salary. He also needed to go see Teddy, and he wanted a nice long visit with Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys.   
  
But, most importantly, he had to find Ginny. The rest of the world could wait. Nothing was going to get in the way of his talking to her today.  
  
Fleur made a grab for the owl that fluttered to the table next to Harry, but he waved her away when he saw the handwriting. Hermione wanted him to meet them for lunch at noon in a new café on Diagon Alley. As always, she had anticipated his need.  
  
Harry glanced at the clock and cut Fleur off in mid-syllable. “Fleur, I promise, tomorrow I’ll spend as much time as you want on this stuff, but today I’ve got some things to do that can’t wait.”  
  
He smiled at the vehement string of French that followed him up the stairs (surely none of it complimentary), but resolutely grabbed his cloak and headed for the front door. He peeked out carefully. Sure enough, the paparazzi were out in force. Wondering briefly what the neighborhood Muggles thought of them, he pulled on his invisibility cloak and slipped out to the stoop, grateful that the house concealment charms were still in place. A couple of seconds later, he was knocking on the kitchen door at the Burrow.  
  
Molly gave a cry of delight as she threw open the door and enveloped him in a hug that had him gasping for air. It was fifteen minutes before he could stem the flow of questions and chatter to get to the real purpose of his visit.  
  
“Sit, sit,” she said as she pushed him into a chair at the table. “Can I get you anything? Breakfast? Tea?”  
  
“No, I just ate. I’m fine,” he took a deep breath. “I was hoping I could talk to Ginny this morning.”  
  
“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. You missed her by about an hour. She’s working at the shop now with George and Ron.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry swallowed his disappointment. “Well, that’s great, isn’t it?”  
  
“She just loves it,” Molly cooed. “She’s been a great help to the boys. You know George has had such a hard time of it.” She paused and dabbed her eyes. “Well, we all have, but he’s… well, it’s been hard.”  
  
Harry swallowed the knot of grief that rose in his throat. He hadn’t completely forgotten Fred’s death, but being away had helped him put it to the back of his mind. Now it hit him full force again and he spent the next hour reminiscing with and comforting this woman who had been surrogate mother to him for so many years.  
  
By the time he was able to graciously depart, he had only an hour until he was to meet Ron and Hermione. He went to Gringott’s to take care of his business (he was relieved that the goblins were only a bit more hostile than usual after the events in May) and was waiting under his invisibility cloak outside The Golden Snitch when they arrived. He fell into step behind them as they entered the café.  
  
“Hey, I’m right behind you,” he murmured  
  
They didn’t even look surprised. “Welcome back. We’ll try to get an out-of-the-way table,” Hermione whispered.  
  
The matré d’ settled them in a secluded corner and Harry removed his cloak for a round of hugs. When the waiter arrived to take their drink orders, he did a double-take at the sight of Harry’s scar, but discreetly made no comment. During their excited exchange of news and gossip, Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione frequently finished each other’s sentences and shared affectionate glances—their relationship had progressed nicely in his absence. As they ate, they covered nearly every topic under the sun, except the one he wanted most to discuss. He could finally stand it no longer.  
  
“So, how’s Ginny?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. He didn’t miss the fleeting look of worry that passed between them and his stomach clenched in dread.  
  
“Oh, she’s great,” Ron said with a smile. “You know she’s working at the shop with me ‘n George, now…”  
  
Harry cut him off. “Yeah, your Mum told me. What else is she up to?”  
  
Another meaningful glance.  
  
“She’s been named Head Girl…” Hermione began.  
  
Harry snorted. “Well, of course. Who else would they give it to?”   
  
He waited, then sighed heavily when they fidgeted and avoided his eyes. “She saw the  _Prophet_  this morning.”  
  
They nodded sadly.  
  
“Blimey, Harry,” Ron said. “Who _is_  that girl? I don’t remember her from Hogwarts.”  
  
“She was only there through fourth year,” Harry explained. “In Ravenclaw. After she met Madame Maxime during the tournament, she transferred to Beauxbatons and finished up there.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” Hermione said. “I remember her. She was a scrawny little thing. Looked more like Moaning Myrtle than a femme fatale.” She gave a sarcastic bark of laughter. “Beauty charms must be required coursework at Beauxbatons.”   
  
Ron took her hand. “Give me brains over beauty any day.”  
  
Harry winced as Hermione raised her eyebrows and withdrew her hand from Ron’s with a look that could freeze a dementor.  
  
Ron quickly backpedaled. “I meant brains  _and_  beauty…brains  _and_  beauty.”   
  
“You should stop before you dig that hole any deeper, Ron,” Hermione said coolly.  
  
He looked at her for a moment, then, before she could stop him, cupped the back of her head with his hand and pulled her over for a thorough kiss. When he was done, he kept his forehead against hers so he could look into her eyes. “You know I love you, don’t you? I’m not perfect, I say things all wrong sometimes, but I love you.”  
  
She cleared her throat. Smiling coyly, she stroked a finger along his cheek. “You just went a long way toward filling that hole in. I’ll give you a chance to finish the job later.”  
  
Ron sat back in his chair with a smug look on his face and winked at Harry, who shook his head in wonder. When had Ron become such an expert with women? He’d have to get a few tips later.  
  
“So, Harry, how’d you end up on the front page with Miss Beauxbatons?” Ron picked up the thread of their conversation again.  
  
Harry sighed and shook his head. “It was stupid, really. I just wasn’t paying attention. I saw the photographer, but he was across the room and I was thinking of something else. Next thing I knew…”  
  
“Harry! I’m so glad I ran into you.” The object of their discussion blew in like a whirlwind, planted a kiss on his cheek, and landed in the empty chair at their table. Her voice carried to the far reaches of the room. Heads turned and the familiar hiss of whispers erupted. Harry wanted to sink under the table.  
  
“Did you see what they did? I couldn’t believe they put that picture on the front page and so big, too. And that caption! Not that I mind being linked romantically with you, of course, but… Oh!” She stopped her rapid-fire stream of words and flashed a brilliant smile across the table at the stunned faces staring at her. “You’re Ron and Hermione!” She reached across the table and pumped each of their hands vigorously. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you. Harry talks about you all the time…”  
  
As she chattered on without a breath, Harry rolled his eyes and shrugged in response to Hermione’s look that clearly said he’d lost his mind for getting anywhere near this person. He was on the verge of trying to take control of the conversation when he caught a glimpse of red across the room. He froze.   
  
Ginny was winding her way through the tables toward them.   
  
He suddenly forgot how to breathe. She looked incredible. The magenta robes that looked so garish on George and Ron were just perfect with her coloring, bringing out the auburn highlights in her hair and turning her skin creamy. Harry had to remain seated to keep from embarrassing himself.   
  
“Ginny…hi,” he said breathlessly, immediately staunching Daphne’s prattle as she sized up the new arrival. “How are you?”   
  
“Hello, Harry. Welcome back.”   
  
Something was wrong. The words were right, but there was no warmth in her eyes. She didn’t appear angry, but she wasn’t glad to see him either. The dread that had settled into his midsection coiled tighter, choking off his breath and sending acid to the back of his throat.  
  
“Well! I’d better be off,” Daphne jumped up, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. She touched Harry’s arm. “See you in class. So nice to meet you,” she said to Ron and Hermione and blew off in a whirl, completely ignoring Ginny.  
  
Ginny watched her go impassively, then turned back to the table. “Ron, George needs you back at the shop. There’s a problem with a shipment and the delivery bloke won’t leave it until we sort it out.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”  
  
“Nice to see you again, Harry,” she said as she turned to leave.  
  
“Ginny—” Harry said with a slightly desperate note in his voice. When she gave him a blank look, he gulped and continued. “That thing in the paper. You know that’s just Rita up to her old tricks…”  
  
She looked at him for a moment, then raised one eyebrow and smirked. “Yeah, that would explain the lipstick, too, I suppose.” She tapped her cheek. Harry lifted his hand to his own cheek and groaned inwardly as he remembered Daphne’s kiss when she came in. With a final wave, Ginny walked calmly out of the café.  
  
Harry sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Ron and Hermione were watching him cautiously.  
  
“Well, that went brilliantly,” Harry said dryly.  
  
“Don’t worry, mate, she’ll come around,” Ron said. “Mum invited you for supper tonight, didn’t she?”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Maybe I can talk to her then.” But, his earlier confidence had evaporated.   
  
“Harry,” Hermione said as she rubbed Harry’s cheek with her napkin, “you’re too nice. You need to stop being diplomatic and get rid of Daffy—er, I mean Daphne—right away.”  
  
Harry smiled. Hermione knew him too well. “I know…”  
  
“Well, I’d better get going,” Ron said. He kissed Hermione and gave Harry a wave. “See you tonight.”  
  
Harry looked at Hermione. “Want to go with me to see Teddy and Andromeda?”  
  
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get back to the office.”  
  
“But, it’s Saturday. I didn’t think the Ministry was open on Saturday.”  
  
“It’s not. That’s why I go in. I can get so much more done with no one else there.”  
  
Harry shook his head and smiled. “You’re never going to change, are you?”  
  
“I hope not,” she said. “See you tonight.”  
  
***  
  
Harry arrived at the Burrow to find the house already full of people who all welcomed him enthusiastically. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Fleur were busy with the meal preparations, Percy and Bill were arguing banking laws, and Mr. Weasley, Ron, and George were setting up the table in the garden.  
  
Ginny was nowhere to be seen.   
  
Harry sat down at the kitchen table and was telling Bill and Percy about his time at training camp when Ginny descended the stairs. Harry stopped in mid-syllable to gawk at her. Her pencil-slim dark green jeans made her legs look incredibly long and the moss-colored blouse hugged every curve, dipping just low enough at the neckline to hint at what lay beneath without really showing anything. With her fiery locks falling in waves over her shoulders, Harry couldn’t imagine a rose that could compare with her.  
  
“I won’t be late, Mum,” she said, giving Molly a kiss on the cheek.  
  
“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” Ron asked as he came through the back door.  
  
“Dean’s taking me to the cinema tonight,” she said blithely. “It’s kind of an early birthday present.”  
  
Mr. Weasley’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes took on an eager light. “The cinema? What’s that?”  
  
“It’s moving pictures for Muggles, Dad,” she said. “Kind of like a play, but with pictures instead of real actors. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”  
  
“What about Harry?” Ron asked, his outrage obvious. “This is his welcome back birthday dinner.”  
  
She looked at Harry apologetically. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I said I’d go with Dean before I knew you were coming for dinner, and he’s already bought the tickets. Can we catch up later?”  
  
Before he could answer, the back door opened again and George came in with Dean in tow. “Look who I found.”  
  
Dean gave the room a wave. “Hello, everyone. Harry! Good to see you, mate.”   
  
Harry accepted Dean’s extended hand with an effort—the beast that had remained dormant in his chest since sixth year suddenly sprang to life, snarling and snapping, and he was struggling to beat it into submission.  
  
“Hi, Dean.”  
  
“How’s the Auror training going? I want to hear all about it sometime. I’m thinking of going in that direction myself,” Dean said, apparently not noticing Harry’s turmoil. “Did Ginny tell you I’m going back to Hogwarts this year?”  
  
Harry blinked. “You’re going back?”  
  
“Yeah, a bunch of us are. Seamus, Neville, Lavender, Pavarti… McGonagall’s letting anyone who didn’t get to finish up last year come so we can get our N.E.W.T.s. ’Course you and Ron and Hermione, you’re the exceptions, but the rest of us can’t get a good job without ‘em, you know.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Yeah. That’s great she’s doing that.”  
  
“Dean, hadn’t we better be leaving?” Ginny took his hand and tugged him toward the door.  
  
“Yeah,” he said as he smiled at her. “See ya, Harry. Bye, everyone.” He waved cheerily to the room and they went out the door.  
  
Harry stared after them, unable to think clearly enough to move or speak.  
  
Ron cleared his throat. “Harry, can you help me with the rest of the chairs?”  
  
Harry looked at him, startled out of his reverie. “Um—chairs—yeah.”  
  
Once outside, he turned on Ron. “How long has that been going on?”  
  
Ron grimaced. “Since right after you left.”  
  
Harry looked dumbfounded. “And you didn’t think you ought to tell me?”  
  
“I was going to at lunch, right before your bimbo came in…”  
  
“She’s not my—”  
  
“…and I would’ve told you when you got here, but I didn’t know she was going out. It just kind of got away from me.”  
  
“Thanks for taking care of things while I was gone, Ron,” Harry said, clearly annoyed.  
  
“I tried, mate, I really did. He’s working at Flourish and Blott’s. He comes round a few times a week and they go for ice cream. I tried to keep her too busy to go, but you know how she is when she thinks we’re trying to stop her doing something.” Ron became suddenly interested in the tuft of grass next to his foot. “I—I really thought it was just friends, but it’s kind of—er, snowballed in the past week.” He chanced a quick look at Harry before returning his concentration to the ground. “I couldn’t stop it. I tried.”  
  
Harry stared out across the garden. “Snowballed? How? How serious is it?”  
  
“I dunno, exactly.” Ron shuffled his feet. “I know he’s kissed her at least once.”  
  
Harry groaned and ran his hands through his hair.   
  
The kitchen door opened, cutting off their conversation as the family filed out behind Molly directing the food to the table with her wand.  
  
***  
  
Harry and Ron sat in the darkened kitchen. Everyone else had departed for their respective homes or gone to bed.  
  
“Knight to E5.”  
  
“You can’t do that. It exposes your king.”  
  
“Oh. Sorry. Pawn to F4.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “Queen to H4. Checkmate.”  
  
Harry shook his head as Ron’s queen threw his king off the board.  
  
“You know, I could be at Hermione’s filling in that hole,” Ron said as he waved his wand to reset the board. “The least you could do is give me a little competition.”  
  
Harry dropped his head into his hands. “Sorry. Maybe I should just go.”  
  
“Are you mental? Hermione will kill me if I let you go home now. I won’t be able to get anywhere near her for a month!”  
  
Harry grinned. “She’s got you whipped already, I see.”  
  
“Ah, no, I just let her think so,” Ron said. He leaned his arms on the table, warming to his subject. “I’ve got it figured out, see. You just have to let them be right. Doesn’t matter if they are or if they aren’t, you just don’t argue with them. Even if they’re dead wrong and the whole world, including them, can see it, you just let ’em be right.”  
  
“They’re always right?” Harry asked skeptically.  
  
“Yep. Always. Oh, and if they think you’re wrong, you agree with them. That bit about meeting them halfway? Don’t believe it. You’ve got to close the whole space. Grovel on your knees if you have to. Believe me, the payoff is worth it every time… if you know what I mean.” Ron waggled his eyebrows and took a swig of his Butterbeer.  
  
Harry eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “Hang on. I told you in the woods that day that Hermione’s like my sister. You’re not telling me I’m going to need to defend her honor or something, are you?”  
  
Ron tried valiantly to suppress his grin. “Bit late for that, mate.”  
  
Harry choked on his Butterbeer, spewing it across the table and gasping for breath. Ron pounded him good-naturedly on the back.  
  
“Hang on—you mean…” Harry gasped.  
  
“Yeah. That comment at lunch today? She meant that quite literally.”  
  
“Gaahh!” Harry leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.   
  
“Oh, and actually it’s my honor you should be defending,” Ron grinned. “I love a woman who likes to take control.” He toasted Harry with his bottle.  
  
“Don’t tell me any more. I can’t stand it.” Harry dropped his head into his hands. “I haven’t even made it onto the pitch and you’ve already caught the Snitch.”  
  
“Hey, great way to put it! And it rhymes, too.” Ron said. “How ’bout that—for once I beat you at something.”  
  
“Great,” Harry muttered through his hands, but after a moment he looked up with a serious expression. “I’m happy for you, you know.”  
  
“Thanks, mate,” said Ron as he carefully inspected his bottle. “It’s not all smooth sailing, though. It’s like it’s a dream, you know? Something I wanted for so long and now it’s real… and I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “She’s loved you forever. I can’t see her changing that anytime soon.”  
  
Ron looked puzzled. “What do you mean forever?”  
  
“Since first year.” Harry grinned at Ron’s startled expression. “She told me a few weeks ago. When you sacrificed yourself during the chess game? That’s when she knew she loved you. She was just waiting for you to come around.”  
  
Ron gave a relieved little laugh. “She never told me.” He threw his head back and laughed again more freely. “Here.” He pulled a small black box from his pocket and set it on the table in front of Harry. “What do you think?”  
  
Harry flipped the lid to find a diamond ring winking at him in the candlelight.  
  
“Wow, Ron. Thanks. I didn’t know you cared.”    
  
“Prat!” Ron said taking back the box.   
  
“So, have you asked her?” Harry asked.  
  
“No.” The uncertainty returned to Ron’s face. “I’m waiting for just the right time. I don’t want to mess it up.”  
  
“You’ll do alright,” Harry assured him.  
  
They sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the ticking of the clock, absorbed in their own thoughts.  
  
“Okay, Mr. Expert-with-women,” Harry finally said as he set his bottle on the table. “What do you do if she won’t let you get close enough to grovel and then goes out and finds herself someone else?”  
  
Ron looked at him somberly. “I dunno. I haven’t gotten to that lesson yet—and I hope I never do.”  
  
Harry leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve really mucked up, haven’t I?” he asked dejectedly. “I was just trying to protect her—first from the Death Eaters and then from all the craziness. I realized today that it’s been more than a year since I’ve had a proper conversation with her. A year!” He shook his head in disbelief. “I think about her all the time… I talk to her all the time in my head… but I haven’t really talked to  _her_ in over a year. No wonder she went looking for someone else.”  
  
Ron looked at him sadly. “It’ll be okay, mate. Just talk to her now. Tell her that you’ve been thinking of her. She’ll come ’round.”  
  
“I’m not so sure. I couldn’t blame her a bit if she—” he broke off at the sound of voices outside. Ron waved his wand to rearrange the chess pieces to look like they were in the middle of a game and they sat forward to study the board.  
  
“What are you two still doing up?” Ginny asked as she closed the door behind her.  
  
Ron sat up and looked surprised. “Omigod. Is it that late? Hermione’s going to kill me.” He jumped up and headed for the fireplace. “Harry, see you tomorrow for lunch at The Snitch? Hey,” he said with a wink and a grin, “I think that’s my new favorite place to eat.”  
  
Harry groaned and rolled his eyes, then grabbed Ron’s arm. “Don’t say anything about all of this to Hermione, okay?” he murmured quietly so Ginny couldn’t hear.  
  
Ron nodded then disappeared in a green flash.  
  
“What did he mean by that?” Ginny asked.  
  
“Oh, nothing. Just being Ron.” He stood. “So, how was the cinema?”  
  
“It was good. But, I guess you know all about them, being raised by Muggles.”  
  
Harry shrugged and said without rancor, “Nah. Dudley got to go all the time, but I was never allowed.”  
  
Ginny looked down and shuffled her feet. “Oh. Well, um, you should go sometime. It’s, um, interesting. Quite entertaining.”  
  
They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment.  
  
Ginny took a deep breath. “So, um… did you need something?”  
  
Harry shifted nervously and shoved his hands into his pockets as he tried to read her expression. Ron’s advice was spinning in his head, but he couldn’t tell what kind of reception he’d get.  
  
“Uh, yeah. I, uh, promised we’d talk when I got back.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah. I guess you did.”  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, then both started talking at once and stopped together.  
  
Harry smiled sheepishly. “Go ahead. You first.”  
  
Ginny cleared her throat and appeared to be gathering her thoughts. The familiar dread coiled around his insides as he waited.  
  
“I just—I wanted to say I’m sorry for taking things out on you before you left. I—I—well, it—everything was kind of crazy, you know, and I was having a hard time with everything and, well, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and I’m sorry.” She hurried on before he could interrupt, her eyes cast down at the chess set as she talked. “I really appreciate your concern and offering to talk and everything, but well, there’s really no need now. I—I’ve kind of worked through it and, well, Dean’s been wonderful, you know, he’s really been there for me this summer… and, well, I just—I guess I’m saying I hope we can still be friends.”  
  
She lifted her eyes with a hopeful look.  
  
Harry’s heart sank. She wanted to be friends. Dean was wonderful and she wanted to be friends. He felt as though every ounce of energy had just drained from his body and he should be sinking to the floor in a puddle. Some invisible force he couldn’t fathom was the only thing keeping him upright. He forced a smile.  
  
“Of course, we can be friends,” he said as cheerfully as he could. He heard his voice speaking normally, though he couldn’t tell that his brain had participated in forming the words. He felt as if someone was playing a recording and moving his mouth by animation charm. “We’ll always be friends, Ginny. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you.” He gulped and forced out the words, “But, I’m—I’m glad you found someone who could. I—I only want you to be happy.”  
  
Ginny nodded. “Thanks, Harry. That means a lot to me.”  
  
He pulled his hands from his pockets and picked his cloak off the chair. “I should go.”  
  
She nodded and backed toward the stairs. “Yeah. See you, Harry.”  
  
He stepped into the grate and watched through the green flames as she disappeared up the stairs.  
  
When he stepped out of the fireplace in his own kitchen, he walked as though driven by that same invisible force to the cupboard and rummaged to the back until he found what he needed. He threw his cloak on the table, uncorked the bottle, and took a big swig as he started to climb the stairs.  
  
Once in the bedroom, he waved his wand and the hearth blazed to life. Harry threw himself into the comfy chair before it. He took another drink and closed his eyes, savoring the burn that ran down his throat. It was a relief to know he could still feel something, but it would be a bigger relief when the whiskey took effect and the pain went away.   
  
How could this have happened? The question swirled like an endless snake through his head… but he knew the answer. He had let it happen. He had no one to blame but himself.  
  
When the battle was over, all he’d wanted was to grab Ginny and find a secluded corner to hide from the world. But the euphoria that had surged through the Wizarding world at his victory over Voldemort had been overwhelming, and he hadn’t had the physical or emotional strength to fight it. He’d allowed himself to be swept along in the celebratory tide, and somehow he had been separated from the one person he really wanted to be with.   
  
And now she was lost to him.  
  
He lifted the bottle again and sighed as he felt the alcohol begin to take effect.


	5. Near Misses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry narrowly misses losing Teddy and misses out altogether with Ginny.

Harry was sprawled in the chair in front of the fireplace, the empty Firewhiskey bottle cradled in his arms and his glasses hanging crookedly from one ear. When Fleur opened the drapes to let in the glaring sun, he threw his arms over his head and tried to bury himself in the chair cushions, sending the bottle crashing to the floor and a stream of muffled profanity her way.  
  
“Get up!” she commanded. “It is nearly noon.”  
  
“Go ’way,” he grumbled from beneath the pillow he had pulled onto his head.  
  
“You must get up. You ’ave company.”  
  
He peered from under the cushion and eyed her blearily. “Tell whoever it is to go away. I’m tired of everyone else running my life.” He burrowed deeper into the chair.  
  
“It is the Minister.”  
  
He pulled his head from beneath the cushion to glare at her, then winced painfully at the light and dove back under it. “The Minister? What’s he doing here?”  
  
“I do not know—’e wants to see you, not me.”  
  
Harry sat up and moaned, holding his head and wondering if he could make it to the bathroom before the nest of basilisks swimming in his stomach decided to emerge.  
  
Fleur handed him a glass off the tray she had set on the lamp table. “Drink this.”  
  
He made a face as he looked into it. “Are you mad? That’s disgusting! It looks like something I coughed up once when I was sick.”  
  
“Drink it. It will clear your ’ead and calm your stomach.”  
  
He started to protest, but she crossed her arms and gave him a look that said clearly that she would force it down him if he gave her any trouble—and that it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. He gagged down the potion and looked up in amazement. Almost before he finished swallowing, the basilisks receded, his head stopped reverberating, and he felt totally alert.  
  
“Wow! What was that?”  
  
“It is an old family recipe. You cannot use it more than once a week, though. Now, get up. The Minister is waiting.”  
  
As she left the room, Harry took one look in the mirror and knew it would take too long to repair the night’s damage manually. He waved his wand to make himself marginally presentable and headed downstairs.  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt was sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea and talking in ominous tones with two Aurors. Harry recognized them but couldn’t remember their names.   
  
“Good morning, Minister,” Harry said wondering if he should salute or something. He decided to offer a hand to shake.   
  
“Ah, Harry,” said Shacklebolt as he stood. “I’m sorry to bother you at home but an urgent situation has developed, and I thought you should know about it right away.”  
  
Harry’s heart thudded nervously.  
  
“Fenrir Greyback has escaped,” Shacklebolt continued. “He was being transferred to Azkaban last evening and the guards were overtaken in an ambush. They’re in St. Mungo’s in very serious condition.”  
  
“Were they—?”   
  
“Unfortunately, yes. The full moon was last night,” Shacklebolt said somberly, then banged his fist on the table. “He should never have been transferred on a full moon.”  
  
Harry nodded, anger and nausea roiling through him. “But how does this affect me?”  
  
Shacklebolt studied Harry thoughtfully. “It seems you’re still a target, Harry. We think Greyback is going to come after you.”  
  
Harry gave a humorless bark of laughter. “That’s just great. Wouldn’t want my life to get too dull, you know?” He gave Shacklebolt a piercing look. “So, what makes you think he’s after me?”  
  
“One of the guards was conscious enough to repeat something Greyback said while they were transporting him. He kept muttering something about ‘teaching that traitor not to turn on his own kind’ and ‘making sure that brat grew up knowing what he really is.’ We assumed he was referring to you.”  
  
Harry turned the words over in his mind for a moment…traitor…own kind…brat…what he really is…  
  
Everything clicked and he stared at the Minister as panic began to take hold.  
  
“No—no—not me. Teddy. He’s going after Teddy Lupin.”  
  
Harry turned and bolted for the front door. Shacklebolt caught up and grabbed him as he reached the front hallway.  
  
“Harry, you’re not fully trained. Let the Aurors handle it. My men have already Flooed to the Ministry to get a team out to Andromeda’s.”  
  
“Minster, that’s my godson. I’m not going to sit here while he’s in danger.”  
  
“The protection charms are still up at the Tonks’ place, aren’t they?”  
  
“Yes, but Greyback’s smart enough to get around them. I’ve got to get them out of there.” He shook the Minister’s hand off his arm.  
  
“Harry—”  
  
Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak from the railing where he’d left it and was out the door before Shacklebolt could stop him. He didn’t even try to hide from the photographers gathered in the square across the street, but Disapparated the instant his feet hit the sidewalk.  
  
Seconds later, he appeared in a grove of trees some distance from the Tonks’ garden wall. Andromeda was watching worriedly from the window as Greyback and his followers were prowling around the property, trying to figure out how to get past the protection charms.   
  
Greyback stood at the garden gate and shouted to her, “Give me the brat, you blood traitor. He should be raised with his own kind. Let me have him and you’ll go unharmed.”   
  
Harry jumped as three Aurors materialized quietly next to him.  
  
“How many?” asked Head Auror Gawain Robards, a stocky wizard with a bald head and scruffy beard.   
  
“About a dozen,” Harry answered. “I’m going in. I’m a known visitor so I can get past the charms.”  
  
Robards considered Harry for a moment, then looked out over the scene. He nodded. “We’ll distract them.”  
  
Harry let out a relieved breath, thankful he wasn’t going to have to argue. He threw his invisibility cloak over his head and slipped silently through the trees to the edge of the woods, waiting for the diversion to begin. The Aurors took their places and, on Robards’ signal, stupefied a quarter of Greyback’s men in a single flash.  
  
Harry dashed through the skirmish and jumped over the garden gate. He knocked urgently on the door.  
  
“Andromeda, it’s Harry. Let me in,” he said just loudly enough for her to hear.  
  
“Harry? How can I be sure?” she asked.  
  
“Teddy’s hair turns the color of my eyes when I talk to him,” Harry said.   
  
“Oh, thank God,” she said, opening the door and closing it quickly behind him as he came through and pulled off his cloak.  
  
“We’ve got to get you and Teddy out of here. I don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to hold them off.”  
  
“But, how? We can’t get beyond the charms to Apparate and the Floo isn’t working—I was going to get it repaired tomorrow.”  
  
Harry looked around and spied what he needed.  
  
“How are you with a broom?” he asked.  
  
“I can get by,” she said. “But, Teddy’s never flown.”  
  
Harry smiled. “He’ll be fine. His mum was an excellent flier. Do you have a basket we can put him in?”  
  
They bundled Teddy into a large basket and climbed the drop-down stairs into the attic. Cautiously opening the small dormer window, Harry checked the grounds below. The battle was raging. Greyback and his men had taken refuge between a couple of large trees and the garden wall; the Aurors were defending the grove beyond. Harry motioned silently for Andromeda to get into position in the window.  
  
“Fly toward the back of the house, away from them. Teddy and I will be right behind you. We’ll circle ’round to the Burrow,” he whispered. As she took off, Harry hooked the handle of the basket over his broom. “Okay, mate,” he said. “Let’s see how you like flying.”  
  
Teddy grinned broadly, flapped his arms, and turned his hair green as Harry launched them from the window in Andromeda’s wake. He had soon pulled even with her and motioned for her to follow him. Staying just above the treetops, he held back to be sure she could keep up, though he would have loved to make the trip at top speed. He was worried about being followed, but so far it seemed Greyback hadn’t noticed that they were gone.  
  
They were in sight of the Burrow when the first red flash whizzed past his ear. He looked over his shoulder and saw Greyback and two of his men rapidly catching up.  
  
“Andromeda, go!” he yelled.  
  
She shot forward and he leaned forward to follow, but the extra weight of the basket dangling beneath him was taking its toll on the speed and stability of the unfamiliar broom. Before he could reach the protective charms of the Burrow, two more attackers appeared below him, blocking his way. Had he been alone, he could have easily out-maneuvered them, but fear for Teddy’s safety made him pull out of his dive. He soared past the Burrow and doubled back to find a way to at least drop the basket safely into its protective zone. Greyback’s followers were circling the perimeter of the Burrow property, forming an impenetrable shield, and Greyback was headed straight for Harry.   
  
Harry shot a Stunning Hex at him and narrowly avoided the one Greyback shot back. As he climbed higher above the Burrow, Greyback followed, picking up speed at such a rate that Harry knew he would soon be overtaken. Relying on his Quidditch Seeker’s skill, he abruptly went into a dive and pulled out of it as soon as he saw Greyback follow. Teddy’s basket rocked violently, throwing off Harry’s balance and sending them into a wild spin. By the time Harry righted the broom, Greyback had gotten close enough for Harry to see his brown teeth grinning through matted gray whiskers.  
  
“You won’t win this time, Potter,” the werewolf chortled. “I’ll have that brat or no one will.”  
  
Greyback pointed his wand and Harry pulled up to avoid the hex.   
  
His heart stopped.   
  
The blast hit the handle of Teddy’s basket, severing it neatly and sending the baby hurtling to Earth. Instinct took over. Harry leaned into his broom, racing at top speed toward the falling basket. He heard Andromeda’s scream and Greyback’s sinister laugh. He saw the flash of hexes zooming past. None of it registered. No Snitch had ever been more important. His Seeker’s skills had never been so tested. With a heart suspended between beats and lungs that refused to work, every fiber in his body was concentrated on catching Teddy.  
  
Just as the basket came even with the top of the orchard trees behind the Burrow, Harry got within reach and made a wild grab at it. He managed to get the ends of his fingers around the broken handle and hang onto it as he pulled out of the dive just in time to avoid hitting the ground, but not the hedge surrounding the clearing. He just missed the top of the shrubs as he released the basket into them, but the tail of his broom snagged in the branches and sent him tumbling. He landed on his back with a thud.   
  
Harry laid still, eyes closed, allowing his heart to start beating again and air to fill his lungs. He listened to Teddy gurgling happily from his perch in the bushes and breathed a sigh of relief—they were both alive and within the protective charms. He couldn’t remember being more terrified in his life.  
  
As he lay there, listening to the beat of his own heart and gulping in air, he heard the sound of footsteps running toward him. Even with his eyes closed, he knew who it was. The flowery fragrance wafting on the breeze was unmistakable.  
  
Ginny dropped to her knees next to him, breathing hard. Her voice held a note of panic as she leaned over him. “Harry—say something—please say something. Are you okay? Oh, please be okay.”  
  
Her hair tumbled around them like a wall of fire, warming him in places he shouldn’t even be concerned about at a time like this. He inhaled the sweet scent he loved so much and held his breath just to savor the sensation. At her touch on his cheek, he opened his eyes fractionally. Her face was so close, he could feel her breath on his mouth—with the slightest movement, he could touch his lips to hers. Oh, what he would give for just a quick taste. The temptation was almost too much. Could he get away with it? Could he plead temporary insanity from a bump on the head?  
   
“Harry, please open your eyes… please say something… please be okay,” she whispered frantically. He saw the fear in her eyes and knew he couldn’t do it. She just wanted to be friends. She wanted Dean.  
  
He released his breath. “I’m fine,” he murmured hoarsely.  
  
He opened his eyes and pushed himself slowly up on his elbows. She abruptly sat back on her heels and looked away, drawing ragged breaths and blinking rapidly.  
  
“You scared me to death,” she said finally, suddenly angry. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again!”  
  
Harry blinked in surprise. “Do what? I didn’t exactly plan it, you know?”  
  
“Oh, don’t give me that, Harry Potter. You always take unnecessary risks, you always have to be the hero. You had no right to put Teddy in danger like that.”   
  
“ _Me_  put Teddy in danger? You seem to have forgotten that Fenrir Greyback was chasing us. I was trying to get Teddy  _out_  of danger.”  
  
“And nearly got both of you killed in the process." Ginny's eyes were glittering with fury. "You’re just like Sirius! Teddy’s not even four months old and you’re already encouraging him to be reckless. If Andromeda’s smart, she won’t let you anywhere near him ever again.” She stood and stormed down the hill, passing Hermione who looked after her in surprise.  
  
“Ginny, wait—” Harry yelled after her, but she kept going. He flopped back to the ground with a frustrated groan. Was he ever going to be able to do anything right where she was concerned?   
  
“What did you say to make her so mad?” Hermione was standing over him, offering a hand to help him up. He took it and got stiffly to his feet, checking as he went to be sure everything worked.  
  
“Dunno,” he said glumly. “I can’t seem to say anything right to her anymore.”  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to say something but was trying to keep from doing so. Harry watched her a moment to see if she would say what she was thinking—it was quite unlike her to hold back. When she remained silent, he shrugged and turned to check on Teddy. Andromeda and Molly had levitated him off the shrubs and were cuddling him as if he had been through a harrowing ordeal. As far as Harry could tell, he’d enjoyed the adventure immensely. Maybe Ginny had a point. Maybe he was becoming as irresponsible a godfather as Sirius.  
  
“We missed you at lunch,” Hermione finally said with her eyes also on Teddy.  
  
“Sorry,” he said dryly. “Something came up.”   
  
“Yeah, Fleur told us,” Hermione said. “We just can’t get a break, can we?”  
  
Harry sighed heavily. “Doesn’t look like it.”   
  
He walked over to where Andromeda and Molly stood, uncertain of the reception he would get, half expecting them to be as angry as Ginny. He was surprised when Andromeda threw her arms around his neck.  
  
“Harry, thank you so much,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “I can’t think what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come.”  
  
Harry patted her awkwardly. “I’m sorry it was such a close call. I didn’t mean to—”  
  
Andromeda leaned back to look at him in surprise. “What are you talking about? You were wonderful! You got us out. We’re safe. Remus and Dora would be proud.”  
  
Harry blushed at the praise he felt he didn’t deserve. “But I almost lost him—”  
  
“You did what you had to do and I’m grateful.” She hugged him and stepped back to dab her eyes. Molly was nodding and wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, too. Teddy squealed and bounced in Molly’s arms.  
  
Harry gently took the baby and looked into his eyes. “You did alright there, mate, for a first time. We’ll wait a bit to take you up again, though. Don’t want to teach you bad habits too early.”  
  
Teddy bounced happily and made a grab for Harry’s glasses. Harry deftly pulled his head back to avoid the move and smiled as he grabbed the baby’s hand to prevent another attempt.   
  
By the time they got back to the house, Ron, George, and Bill were landing their brooms in the garden. Arthur and Fleur had come out the back door, and Robards had arrived.  
  
“He got away,” Harry said, as a statement, not a question.  
  
Robards nodded gravely. “Just after you got out of the house, they broke through the protective charms and ran inside. By the time we got in, they had grabbed their brooms and followed you. We rounded up the ones that were left,” he said.  
  
“When we saw what was going on after you got here, we chased them,” Bill said, “but he had a pretty good head start on us and we lost them. I think they probably landed on a hill and Disapparated.”  
  
“We’ll get him,” Robards said. “I’ve got our intelligence unit working on his whereabouts already.” He turned to Andromeda. “We’ll put extra protective charms up at the house and I’ll assign a guard round the clock.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Molly said. “They can stay with us until the danger is past.”  
  
“Molly, I can’t impose on your family like that,” Andromeda protested.  
  
“It’s not imposing at all,” Molly said with a dismissive wave. “I’m actually being quite selfish. I need some practice spoiling a baby (she gave Bill a meaningful look) and this gives me the perfect opportunity.”  
  
Bill shook his head. “Now, mum…”  
  
“Don’t ‘now, mum’ me,” Molly sniffed and turned back to Andromeda. “You’ll stay in Bill’s old room and we’ll have a wonderful visit until all of this is sorted. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”  
  
She took Teddy from Harry and the two women went into the house chattering excitedly.  
  
“I better get back,” Robards said. “I’ll keep you posted.” He walked out of the garden gate and Disapparated beyond the protective charms.  
  
Harry recounted the details of the afternoon to the remaining group.   
  
“But, why does he want Teddy?” Hermione asked.   
  
“Revenge. I don’t think he wants to kill him, though,” Harry said with a grim look. “I think he wants to raise him.”  
  
“Raise him?” Hermione looked mortified. “Like an heir? Oh, how awful!”  
  
Everyone stood silent, processing the horrible thought. What would someone like Greyback do to a sweet child like Teddy? It was too disturbing to consider.  
  
Harry chanced a glance at the window on the first floor. He thought he saw the curtains move as if someone had just stepped away from them, but he couldn’t be sure. In fact, he probably was mistaken—just wishful thinking. The Burrow had always felt like home, but now, with Ginny always angry at him, he couldn’t seem to get comfortable here. Unexpectedly, panic swirled through his brain and he was overwhelmed with an urgent need to get away.  
  
“I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly.  
  
“Go?” Ron said in surprise. “Where are you going?”  
  
“To the Ministry,” Harry said, grasping at the first thought that flitted through his head. “I’ve got to find out what’s going on.”  
  
“Well at least stay and have a bite to eat, seeing as you missed lunch,” Ron said.  
  
Harry’s stomach rumbled and he realized he hadn’t eaten since supper the night before.  
  
“I’m fine. I’ll get something later. Greyback’s more important right now.” Truthfully, Harry was glad to have a purpose, something to think about besides Ginny. His troubles with her might never be resolved, and he was out of his element trying to find a way to fix them. In his opinion, chasing a dark wizard was much simpler than trying to figure out women. Ron seemed to have it mastered, but Harry doubted that he ever would.


	6. Making Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny has a talk with herself and reaches an understanding with Dean.

Ginny wrapped her arms tightly around her mid-section and paced frantically in her room. Why had she done that? He had been brilliant, poetry in motion, brave and daring and exciting. The actors she’d seen in the action film at the cinema last night couldn’t hold a candle to the real-life hero she’d just watched in her own garden. He was more handsome than any of them, and his unselfish concern for Teddy made him far sexier in her mind.  
  
What had possessed her to say those things to him? She didn’t really believe any of them. But, she knew why…   
  
When she’d seen him make that dive, she’d begun running for the orchard, knowing she was going to have to scrape them both off the ground, until he’d pulled out of it and deposited Teddy safely in the shrubs, and her heart had begun beating again, relief coursing through her veins. But then she’d heard him hit the ground even though she was still a great distance from where he’d landed. Terrified, she’d run even harder, so afraid that this time he’d finally hurt himself beyond repair.   
  
He didn’t appear to be conscious. She’d begged him to talk to her and leaned in close to make sure he was breathing. He had inhaled once then seemed to stop. Oh, Merlin, the urge to kiss him, to breathe life back into him, was nearly unbearable. She’d almost done it. She’d come so close…   
  
Then he exhaled and spoke. And she knew if she didn’t do something drastic she was going to lose it right there in front of him. She was already fighting to keep the tears back—so she attacked.  
  
And now she was miserable.   
  
She could see him now in the garden, holding Teddy and talking with the others. She wondered what he would’ve done if she had kissed him. Maybe he wouldn’t have remembered. Maybe she could’ve gotten away with it…  
  
She watched him from the window, far enough back into the curtains that she thought she wouldn’t be seen, her tears flowing unchecked. He looked up and she stepped back quickly. When she heard the kitchen door open, she dried her face and made herself presentable. She’d have to go down eventually. She might as well get it over with.  
  
But, he was gone. Off to fight the forces of evil again. Would she ever get used to this? It really didn’t matter, she supposed. He didn’t belong to her. He belonged to the Wizarding world. He would never be hers alone. He would never be hers at all.  
  
***  
  
Ginny tossed and turned most of the night as the events of the day weighed heavily on her heart. She wrote several letters of apology, promptly burning each one as soon as she’d signed it, unable to follow through with the pattern she seemed to be falling into—yelling at him and writing to apologize. Written words weren’t enough. She needed to tell him in person. But that would mean facing him and she wasn’t sure she could do that without losing control.  
  
What had she become? She had always been somewhat temperamental, but lately her fuse had been way too short with everyone, but especially where Harry was concerned. And she never used to cry, at least not like now. When she was very young, her brothers would jump to her aid whenever she made a peep. But as she grew, she learned that crying didn’t carry much water with them. They grew less tolerant and more embarrassed by overt demonstrations of emotion and would take the mickey out of her if she cried where they could see. Whenever she needed to have a good cry, she would lock herself in her room or find one of her favorite hiding places. And since she’d started Hogwarts, she couldn’t remember crying more than a couple of times—until this year.   
  
Of course, this year had been an emotional one for everyone. All of the Weasleys had cried a lot since Fred’s death (though the men would attribute it to something in their eyes or just leave the room so no one would see). But she was beginning to feel like a leaky tap, unable to stop the flow once it got started. And it started often. Way too often.  
  
She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and glared at the ceiling. Between the hours of crying and lack of sleep, her eyes burned like hot coals. This was ridiculous. She had to get at least a couple hours of rest before work or she’d be totally useless. Thinking a glass of milk might help, she threw on her robe and tiptoed downstairs.  
  
“Ginny, what are you doing up?”  
  
Andromeda Tonks was sitting wearily in the chair by the kitchen fireplace, holding a wide-awake Teddy.  
  
“I can’t sleep. What are you doing up?”  
  
“Teddy’s got his days and nights all mixed up,” Andromeda said through a huge yawn. “I think with all the excitement today and being in a strange place, he just can’t settle down, poor thing. He usually sleeps like a log all night.” She yawned again. “I’m getting too old for this, I think.”  
  
Ginny finished pouring her milk and reached out to take the baby. “Why don’t you let me sit up with him a while. I can’t sleep anyway.”  
  
“Oh, Ginny, I couldn’t ask you to do that. We’re already imposing on your family too much as it is.”  
  
“It’s no problem at all. Like I said, I can’t sleep and you obviously need to, so this is the only logical solution. Besides,” she smiled at Teddy and bounced him on her hip, “Teddy and I haven’t had a chance to visit in a while. You go on. We’ll be fine.”  
  
Andromeda covered another yawn and looked relieved. “You’re sure?”  
  
“Yes! Now go.” Ginny shooed her off and settled into the comfy armchair.  
  
Teddy was curiously alert and in a very conversant mood, as much as a four-month-old can converse. He gurgled and squealed and blew drool bubbles as he stiffened his legs to stand on Ginny’s knees while she held him steady.  
  
“My, you  _are_  in a happy mood,” she told him with a smile. “What’s got you all wound up tonight? Did Harry get you too excited today? I told him he shouldn’t have given you such a dangerous ride. But I guess he really didn’t have a choice, did he?”  
  
Teddy flapped his arms and blew a raspberry.  
  
“Yes, I know you got to fly today. It was fun, wasn’t it? I love to fly and so does Harry. But I hope you won’t take as many chances as he does. I get scared for him sometimes. I don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”  
  
Teddy flashed a toothless grin and bounced on her legs.  
  
“I worry about your godfather all the time these days,” Ginny told Teddy somberly. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. He can take care of himself, and everybody else, too, but I think he takes on too much sometimes. He really can’t protect everyone  _all_  the time. He needs to learn to trust other people more.”  
  
Teddy frowned and drooled. Ginny grabbed a napkin from the sideboard to blot it before it landed on her.  
  
“See, Teddy, that’s what happened to us. He wanted to protect me last year from Voldemort. He thought if anyone knew we were dating that they would use me to get to him. I thought he was being stupid. I guess the way it turned out, he probably had a point. But since the war’s been over, I think he’s still trying to protect me, but I can’t imagine what from. He says it’s the press and all the craziness, but I just can’t see why I need to be protected from that.” She sighed.  
  
Teddy bounced and gurgled at her.  
  
“I know. You’re exactly right. He’s just being silly, isn’t he? You know what I really think? I think he just got tired of me and this is his way of not having to deal with me anymore. I think he met that girl and saying he was keeping me away from the press was the easy way to not have to tell me.”  
  
Teddy grabbed a handful of Ginny’s hair and pulled it blindly toward his mouth as he grinned at her.  
  
“Ow! That hurts, you little rascal!” She gingerly untangled his fingers and flipped her hair behind her shoulder.  
  
“Well, what do you think, Teddy? Do you think I’ll ever have another chance with your godfather? Could you put in a good word for me?”  
  
Teddy bounced and blew a string of drool bubbles—then changed his hair to Harry Potter green. Ginny gaped at him for a moment and laughed in disbelief.  
  
“I think I’m going to take that as a yes.”  
  
She turned Teddy around to sit in the crook of her arm and curled her legs under her. “How would you like to hear all about your godfather when he was a little boy? You see, when Harry was just a year old—not too much older than you—the evil wizard Voldemort heard a prophecy about a baby who would grow up to defeat him…”  
  
***  
  
“Ginny, dear, let me take Teddy to his bed.”  
  
Ginny jumped awake at Molly’s whisper in her ear. She had a crick in her neck and her arm was prickly where Teddy was sleeping soundly against it in her lap. They had both dozed off a couple of hours earlier.   
  
“Why is his hair green? Was Harry here last night?”   
  
“No,” Ginny said through a yawn, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to meet her mother’s gaze. “I was telling him stories about Harry. I guess he might’ve been dreaming.”  
  
Molly eyed her curiously as she carefully lifted the sleeping baby, but Ginny pretended not to notice. She uncurled herself and tried to stretch some feeling back into her arms and legs. Her head was thick with fog from the sleepless night. A hot shower helped some, along with the two cups of coffee she drank to try to get her blood pumping.   
  
The Monday weather fit her mood. Low-hanging black clouds obliterated the morning sun, and the steady downpour made her glad she had a portkey to take her directly into the shop. The weather kept most shoppers away, but Ginny stayed busy restocking shelves and setting up a new display of daydream charms. Those things were flying off the shelves so fast she wondered how anyone at Hogwarts was going to pass their exams this year.  
  
Everyone was out of sorts today. George was especially quiet. She wondered if he was thinking of the time he and Fred had gone flying on such a day when they were twelve—Mum had nearly killed them. All in all it was amazing that either of them made it to adulthood.  
  
Ron was downright grumpy. He criticized everything she did, from the way she was arranging her display to the way she had arranged her hair—a simple ponytail so she didn’t have to fight what this kind of weather did to it. Not in the mood to argue and worried about George, Ginny did her best to just stay clear of Ron. She wondered if he and Hermione had had a row, but they seemed perfectly happy (and his mood did an about face) when she arrived for lunch.   
  
Alone in the shop, Ginny and George settled at the counter to eat the sandwiches he had brought down from his flat.  
  
“You seem quiet today,” Ginny ventured after they’d finished their meal in silence.  
  
George gave her a sad smile. “Just thinking.”  
  
“’Bout what?”   
  
He looked at her warmly. “’Bout you.”  
  
She didn't believe him, but let it go. "Me? What about me?”  
  
“Tomorrow you’re all grown up. I won’t have a baby sister anymore.”  
  
Ginny snorted. “I don’t think it happens quite like that. I doubt I’ll feel a bit more grown up tomorrow than I do today.”  
  
“Sure you will,” George said. “The Trace breaks and you’ll be able to do magic whenever you want. It’s a big deal.”  
  
“Well, yeah, there’s that, but I don’t think I’ll feel more grown up otherwise.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Ginny played with the crumbs on her plate, arranging and rearranging them into different clusters. She shrugged. “I dunno. I just keep making bad decisions and doing stupid things.”  
  
George patted her shoulder. “Fred used to say there was no such thing as a bad decision, it’s just a path to a different opportunity.”  
   
Ginny gave him a little smile. “That sounds like something Fred would say.” She furrowed her brow in thought for a moment. “But what if I wished I’d taken the other path, waited for the other opportunity?”  
  
“Ah, there’s the rub. You can’t go back. But, sometimes you can cut your own path. You just need to figure out where you’ve ended up and what you need to do to get back to where you want to be.”  
  
Ginny sighed heavily. “I don’t know if it’s even possible to get where I want to be. I think that opportunity is gone altogether.”  
  
George smiled sadly and she could tell he was thinking of Fred and the paths he wished they could be taking together. “If that’s the case, then you just keep going until you figure out what direction you need to take.” He squeezed her in a one-armed hug and gathered their plates to take upstairs.  
  
The rain had slowed to a misty drizzle and, with few customers coming in, the afternoon dragged. Ginny had dusted and straightened and organized the front of the shop until it was in perfect order. She wandered into the storeroom to see what she could do to keep herself busy and found Ron standing in the middle of the room staring at something in his hand.   
  
“What’cha got?” she asked.  
  
His head snapped up and he whipped his arm behind his back. “Nothing.”  
  
Ginny grinned mischievously. “That’s my birthday present, isn’t it?”  
  
“No! No… it’s nothing, I said.”  
  
“Uh, huh,” she said with a smirk and made as if to walk past him. When she came even with his arm, she snatched the small box from his hand and ran from the room, knowing he would come after her. He did.  
  
“Give that back. It’s not for you,” he growled as he leapt over the counter and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her side.  
  
She squirmed until she got her arm free and held it out in front of her so he couldn’t reach. “Then who’s it for?”  
  
“None of your business. Give it back!” He let go of her with one arm to reach for the box and she wriggled loose, squealing with laughter as she dodged between displays in the empty store until he trapped her in the corner by the front window.  
  
She turned her back to him, opened the lid, and froze in shock at what she saw. She suddenly realized what her mother had been talking about weeks earlier. Ron reached over her shoulder and snatched the box away. With a scowl, he stormed back into the storeroom in stony silence. She followed him and stopped at the door.  
  
“Ron! Is that—?” she asked breathlessly.  
  
He stood with his back to her. She could feel the anger radiating across the room.   
  
“Yeah,” he finally mumbled.  
  
She stepped cautiously to his side and peered around to look into his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”  
  
“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug, concentrating on turning the little box over and over in his hand. “Just don’t say anything to anyone, okay? She doesn’t know.”  
  
“I won’t.” Ginny touched his cheek gently. “Hey. This is good. I’m really happy for you. When are you going to ask her?”  
  
His eyes flicked to hers then back to the box. “Dunno. I might not... not for a while yet, anyway. Maybe it’s too soon.”  
  
“Too soon? Ron, you’ve been together for more than seven years. How much longer do you need?”  
  
“No, we’ve only been together, really together—as a couple—for just three months. Actually three months, nine days, and about fourteen hours.” His ears turned crimson as he gave her a sheepish grin.  
  
She smiled. “I think it’s so sweet that you know that.”  
  
He shoved the box into his pocket and gave her a stern look. “Well, keep it to yourself, okay? I’ve got my reputation to consider, you know. And don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. I’ve got to figure out how to do it so I don’t mess it up.”  
  
She hugged him. “Your secret’s safe with me. And don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Just follow your heart.”  
  
Ginny spent the next hour thinking of her conversations with her brothers. They were quite the trio. George was so sad, Ron was so insecure, and she was so confused. She didn’t wonder that they had grown so close over the summer supporting one another the way they had. She hadn’t actually confessed her own troubles—Ron was too close to Harry to risk it—but she had felt their love and support nonetheless. She hoped she was doing the same for them.  
  
“Hellooo. Anyone in there?”  
  
She jumped at Dean’s hand waving in front of her face. She had been so deep in thought she didn’t hear the door chime.  
  
“Sorry. I guess I was lost in thought.”  
  
“Unfamiliar territory, huh?” he teased and, with a laugh, dodged the slap she aimed at his arm. “Want to take a break?”  
  
“Sure. It’s not like business is booming today.”  
  
“It’s the same at F&B.”  
  
“Hey, Ron. I’m going for some ice cream,” she called toward the storeroom. “Want me to bring you some?”  
  
He stuck his head out the door and glared at Dean. “No. Just don’t be long. We might get busy now that the rain’s stopped.”  
  
“Yeah, sure we will,” she said, closing the door behind them.  
  
“I don’t think your brother likes me coming ’round,” Dean remarked casually as they made their way down the street.  
  
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just being a git. I don’t know what’s got his knickers in a knot.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
She looked at him curiously. “You do? What?”  
  
“He thinks I’m getting in the way of you and Harry.”  
  
Ginny stopped in her tracks and gawked at him. “Pull the other one. Why would you think that? Harry and I broke up over a year ago.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said, calmly taking her arm and steering her on toward Fortescue’s. “He thinks the two of you should be together and I’m getting in the way.”  
  
“You’re mental. Did he tell you that?”  
  
“No. But, I know that’s it.”  
  
The conversation paused as they settled into their favorite corner seats behind the potted palm. Almost before they got their chairs pulled in, Florian Fortescue Jr. delivered their regular orders with a flourish. They thanked him as he bowed and returned to the counter.  
  
“I still think you’re mental,” Ginny said, returning to their previous topic as she spooned a bite of Honeydukes Chocolate Mint ice cream into her mouth.  
  
“No, I’m not. And I know something else, too.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He eyed her speculatively for a moment. “You’d rather be with Harry, too.”  
  
Ginny felt her face burn. She laid her spoon down and concentrated on arranging it just so on her napkin. “No… no, we’re just friends. That’s all, just—”  
  
“Oh, it’s okay, Ginny. Don’t worry about it—at least not on my account.”  
  
She looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Look, I know you and I are just friends. But, truth be told, I wouldn’t mind another chance with you. I also know how you feel about Harry. I don’t know why you two didn’t get back together after the war, but I’m definitely not complaining. I mean, while he’s out there playing the celebrity and saving the world, I’ve got to spend my whole summer with you. And, if maybe that gives me a second chance—well, I’m going to give it a shot. Besides, if I have to play second fiddle to someone, I’m glad it’s Harry ’cause that still puts me way ahead of all the other blokes in the world, doesn’t it?”  
  
Ginny’s mind was spinning. She was touched and worried and confused. “Dean, I—I don’t know what to say. I—How—how did you know?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Ginny, anyone with eyes can see it. Well, anyone except Harry, it seems. I think he needs his glasses changed.”  
  
Ginny blanched. What if Harry  _could_  see? If so, he obviously didn’t care. It’s what she expected, but it still hurt. Stirring her melting ice cream absently, she sighed, then smiled bravely at Dean.  
  
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, anyway. He’s moved on.”  
  
Dean reached across the table and took her hand. “Yeah, I saw the  _Prophet_. I’m sorry.”  
  
She shrugged. “I’m over it.” She looked up, concern in her eyes. “Dean, I don’t want you to think—I didn’t mean—”  
  
He held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t care if you use me as a shield against Harry. Like I said, I’m the one holding your hand and eating ice cream with you. What do I have to complain about?” He smiled encouragingly and she gave a grateful nod.  
  
“Thank you. You’re being much nicer about this than I have a right to expect.”  
  
“Don’t mention it. I just thought I should let you know how I feel and that I know where I stand. I think it’s important to be open about these things—less chance for misunderstanding, you know? I hope you’ll do the same for me… even if you think it might hurt. I’d rather know.”  
  
Ginny studied him a moment and smiled. “When did you get to be so wise, Dean Thomas?”  
  
He shook his head. “I don’t know about wise, but I had a lot of time to think when I was on the run last year. I got a chance to figure out what’s really important.”  
  
Ginny nodded in understanding, then gave him a pleading look. “I promise I’ll try to be honest with you. I don’t know yet, where I want this to go… us, I mean. Can we be just friends for right now?”  
  
He smiled. “Of course. Friendship is a great place to start—look at Ron and Hermione.”  
  
She smiled back.  
  
“And if it never goes beyond that, well, then, I’ve got a good friend,” he said.  
  
She shook her head in wonder at his level-headed take on life. He was so kind and sweet. She wished at that moment that she  _could_  feel more than friendship for him. All she could think right now, though, was that he deserved someone better—someone who was worthy of him and could love him the way he should be loved. She decided she would do her best to be a good friend and to keep her mind and heart open to one of those different opportunities George had told her about.  
  
***  
  
Ginny’s birthday dawned clear and cool. The rain the day before seemed to have washed away the summer’s grime, leaving the world aglow in vibrant colors. A touch of fall was in the air, even though the official start of the season was more than a month away and the summer was likely to be back with a vengeance before then.  
  
Harry inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh air after being cooped up in the bowels of the Ministry all morning. He made his way along Diagon Alley, ignoring the stares of passersby and the inevitable wave of whispers that followed him everywhere. Though it had been happening since he was eleven, he thought he’d never grow used to hearing his name spoken in undertones wherever he went.   
  
As he drew within sight of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, he made a conscious effort to steady his nerves. He was going to see Ron, to fill him in on the outcome of the hearing. Okay, so Ginny would be there, but he wasn’t coming to see her. Even if it was her birthday and he could hardly concentrate on the hearing for thinking about her. He was going to see Ron.  
  
Right.  
  
He pushed open the door and scanned the packed shop. Ron and George were frantically waiting on a long line of customers. Ginny was nowhere to be seen.  
  
The crowd parted and whispered—a few giggly young girls squealed with excitement—as Harry wound his way through to the counter and motioned to Ron that he would wait in the office. He glanced into the storeroom as he passed, but it was empty. Making himself comfortable at George’s desk, he pulled the small wrapped box from his pocket. He’d bought it months ago. The tiny silver lightening bolt on a gold filigree chain had caught his eye from the window of a Goblin jewelry shop in Ireland where he was attending one of those countless ceremonies right after the war. He’d paid double what the goblin was asking for it and made him sign a release so there would never be any question of ownership. Should he give it to her today or wait until the party on Saturday?  
  
He was still pondering the decision a half hour later when Ron came in and flopped into the other chair in the tiny room.  
  
“Blimey! Everyone’s making up for lost time today. I think we’ll have the best day this year, but I sure wish they wouldn’t all come at once.”  
  
“You and George looked like you could use another set of hands. I almost offered to help, but I think I’d only make matters worse.”  
  
Shaking his head in fear, Ron held up both hands. “No way. It’d be a mob scene. Best leave the work here to the professionals.”   
  
Harry grinned. “So, where’s Ginny?”  
  
Ron grimaced. “She’s off taking a break,” he said with a sneer. “You’d bloody well think it was her birthday or something.”  
  
Harry smiled weakly at the lame joke, realizing who she was most likely taking her break with.  
  
“So, how did the hearing go?” Ron asked.  
  
“Lucius is going to trial next month. Narcissa and Draco got off with probation. They lose magic privileges for a year, then have another hearing to see if they get them back.”  
  
“Sounds like they got off pretty easy, if you ask me,” Ron said. “Narcissa might’ve helped you right there at the end, but, even if he didn’t outright identify us at the Manor, Malfoy didn’t help us either. And he was definitely out to get us in the Room of Requirement.”  
  
“They decided that, even though he was of age, he was still young enough for it to be fear and bad judgment.”  
  
Ron snorted. “I’d say the Wizengamot’s showing bad judgment. You mark my word, he’ll be as bad as his sorry father in a few years. They’ll wish they’d locked him up when they had the chance.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re probably right. But just think about Malfoy having to go a year without magic.”  
  
Ron laughed heartily. “You’ve got a point there, mate. Kinda makes me wish we were still at school. I’d like to try that slug-eating curse on him again with a good wand.”  
  
They talked over the details of the hearing for another few minutes and emerged from the back to find George still manning the store alone.  
  
“Where’s Ginny?” Ron asked.  
  
“Dunno,” George replied. “I’m getting worried. She’s been gone for almost two hours. That’s not like her.”  
  
“Probably thinks she’s special today,” Ron snorted. “Should I go look for her?”  
  
“I’ll go,” Harry said, surveying the crowd of customers roaming the aisles.  
  
Just then, the door opened and Dean Thomas staggered in, blood pouring from a gaping wound on his head. Amid the customers’ screams and scrambling to get out of the way, Harry dashed forward to catch him as he crumpled. Ron and George came around the counter to help lay him carefully on the floor.   
  
“They took her. They got Ginny,” he whispered hoarsely before he passed out.


	7. Foes and Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greyback strikes again.

Harry paced restlessly among the crowd of Weasleys gathered in the waiting room at St. Mungo’s. Dean’s mother was there as well, sitting next to Molly and offering comfort as best she could. Two Aurors were stationed outside the door of Dean’s hospital ward, waiting to question him and to make sure no one came to finish the job they’d started on him.  
  
“What’s taking so long? We need to get in there to talk to him,” Harry said to no one in particular, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat for the thousandth time at the thought of what could be happening to Ginny while they endured the agonizing wait for the Healers to bring Dean back to consciousness.  
  
“They are doing all that they can,” Fleur said. “You must be patient.”  
  
“Patient! How can I be patient?” Harry asked in exasperation. “We don’t know who took her or where they went or—”  
  
Ron grabbed him by the shoulders. “Let’s go for a walk.”  
  
“Ron, I don’t want to—” he stopped short when he caught Ron’s look and the cock of his head indicating that Mrs. Weasley had started crying again. Harry realized with a pang that he was making matters worse for everyone, and turned on his heel.  
  
When they got out of earshot, Harry stopped and leaned heavily on the wall, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to—” He turned and beat both fists on the wall in frustration. “Arrrh! This is maddening!”  
  
Ron joined him against the wall, laying his head back and closing his eyes. “I know. I don’t think any of us can handle it if—if anything—happens to her…” he said, allowing his voice to trail off.   
  
Harry filled in the rest of the sentence in his head:  _especially after what happened to Fred_. He banged his fist against the wall again and laid his forehead on the cool tile. He had to keep it together. The Weasleys needed him—they needed each other—to get through this. If he lost it, he would only make it harder on them.  
  
Harry raised his head at the sound of footsteps. Hermione came running from the lift and wrapped her arms around Ron.  
  
“I got here as quickly as I could. Are you okay?” she whispered into his ear.  
  
Ron sagged into her and buried his head against her neck. Harry suddenly felt very alone. And like a royal prat. He realized that Ron had been working hard to hold himself together for the benefit of his family. He hadn’t considered at all that Ron was having an equally hard time dealing with Ginny’s disappearance, and Harry had done nothing to support him.   
  
He put a hand on Ron’s shoulder. Hermione looked up and held out her arm, inviting him to join their embrace. He moved into the hug and wrapped his arms around his two best friends. They had been through so much together. They had faced death and physical hardship and emotional turmoil. And they had come through it stronger—because they had each other. Harry felt a surge of gratitude and unworthiness. He wouldn’t be here if not for the love and strength they had given him through the years. He had to do what he could to return that to them now.  
  
A commotion at the other end of the hall brought them to attention.   
  
“Harry! Dean’s asking for you,” George called.  
  
Harry dashed into the room with Ron on his heels and skidded to a stop at the bedside. Giving Mrs. Thomas an apologetic look, he bent down so Dean could see him without having to move—his head was heavily bandaged, his breathing labored, his eyes closed.  
  
“Dean?” Harry said quietly. “Dean, can you hear me?”  
  
Dean turned his head slightly and moaned. “Yeah,” he murmured.  
  
“Don’t move,” Harry said. “Just tell me who it was. Do you know where they took her?”  
  
“Scabior—snatcher,” Dean whispered brokenly.   
  
Harry and Ron exchanged horrified looks across the bed. They remembered the henchman that had been working with Greyback in the spring when they were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor.  
  
Dean licked his cracked lips and continued after a moment. “To—to Greyback.”   
  
Harry fought the panic that rose inside him. He needed to stay calm. “Do you know where?” he asked.  
  
Dean started to shake his head, winced in pain and whispered, “No,” as he drifted back into a drug-induced sleep.  
  
Harry put a hand on Mrs. Thomas’ shoulder in thanks and motioned to Ron. Back in the hall, Robards had arrived with a report on the crime scene investigation—Harry’s stomach lurched alarmingly when he saw that the Auror was handing Ginny’s wand to Arthur.   
  
When Harry and Ron finished relating Dean’s story, Molly flung herself into her husband’s arms, wailing hopelessly. Bill flagged down a passing Healing Assistant to ask for a Calming Draught.  
  
“Non!” Fleur said, waving the woman away. “Your mother is upset. She does not need to be drugged.”  
  
“But, Fleur, she’s—”  
  
“She is acting as a mother who has lost her daughter should act. Leave ’er alone.” With a flip of her hair, Fleur turned and put an arm around Molly’s shoulder to lead her back to the hard sofa in the corner of the room. Harry could see that by the time they were settled, they were both crying openly. Bill threw up his hands in surrender and turned back to where Robards was addressing the group.  
  
“This seems more like a targeted kidnapping than a random attack,” Robards told them. “You should wait at home to see if he makes contact. He may want ransom.”  
  
“Ransom?” Bill said. “He knows our family isn’t wealthy.”  
  
“Yes, but he also knows you have a friend who is,” Robards replied, casting a glance at Harry.  
  
“Whatever he wants, we’ll do it,” Harry said without hesitation. He would gladly give the entire contents of his Gringott’s vault if it meant Ginny would be returned safely.  
  
“We’ll put a watch on the Floo. Let us know if you hear from him by different means. We’ll keep you posted on the investigation. Potter, a word please,” Robards said as he put a hand on Harry’s arm and pulled him a little away from the rest of the group. “Don’t go after him on your own,” he said quietly. “You’re not through with your training and I expect you to let the professionals handle this one.”  
  
Harry looked at his shoes and nodded. He could tell that Ron and Hermione were listening.  
  
“That’s an order,” Robards said in a no-nonsense tone.  
  
Harry’s head snapped up.  
  
“You’re a good recruit. I’d hate for you to jeopardize your position in the department by doing something foolish,” Robards said, giving him a meaningful look. “You understand, right?”  
  
Harry held his gaze and nodded. “I understand.”  
  
***  
  
Ginny opened her eyes and tried to remember where she was. The crashing pain in her head wasn’t helping her thought process. Bits and pieces of memory began to take shape: walking with Dean back to the shop… flashes of light—hexes… two goons in the alley… losing her wand… Dean bleeding… darkness.  
  
She looked at her surroundings. Rough stone walls… thatch roof… dirt floor… filthy, smelly straw mattress… chamber pot in the corner… boarded up window… table and one rickety chair… fireplace… She didn’t recognize anything, except her cloak hanging on a peg across the room.   
  
She tentatively tried to move. Pain seared through her side—probably broken ribs—and her right ankle felt sore and swollen—sprained or possibly broken. Her left leg was heavy, as if weighted to the floor. Wincing at the merciless pounding in her brain, she ran a hand over her head. Her cheek was puffy and tender and she felt an egg-sized knot near the base of her skull. She pushed herself into a sitting position and her stomach lurched at the movement, though she thought the stench of the mattress was probably contributing to the cause. She crawled gingerly to the chamber pot and retched several times, depositing the ice cream cake Dean had bought in honor of her birthday. The effort exhausted her and she slumped weakly against the wall. From this vantage point, she could see the heavy chain attaching the shackle on her leg to the large ring embedded in the wall.   
  
Where was she? Who had brought her here and why? She drew her knees up close to her chest and laid her head on them. She shouldn’t sleep. She had to think… had to think…   
  
When she awoke, she knew she had been out for several hours. The ribbons of sunlight that had streamed through the cracks in the boards covering the window were gone and the night creatures were beginning their songs. She shivered. The cold, hard floor was uncomfortable, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie back down on that horrible sack of straw. Her stomach grumbled and her dry mouth still tasted of bile. Her body ached in places she didn’t know existed until now. The odor from the chamber pot threatened to bring on another round of retching. Something scuttled across the floor in front of her.  
  
She tried to stand, but found her swollen ankle and trembling legs wouldn’t hold her and her stomach protested at the effort. She considered crawling around to see if she could find a way out, but her weak, aching limbs wouldn’t obey. She managed to pull herself into the corner as far away from the smelly mattress and chamber pot as the chain would allow, and curled into a ball on the floor, willing her queasy insides to stop squirming. Her brain wouldn’t cooperate in coming up with a plan of escape. She was so very tired. Maybe if she slept just a bit more…  
  
***  
  
The door crashed open, bringing Ginny to her knees with a cry of fright and pain. Sunlight poured into the room through the opening, the sudden brightness making her head throb and sending daggers through her eyes as they strained to adjust. She crouched in her corner, struggling to make out the details of the huge silhouette standing before her. The smell of dirt and sweat and blood nearly made her gag.  
  
“Well, well. Did we have a pleasant night?”  
  
The raspy voice triggered her muddled brain to action and all the pieces clicked together—Greyback. A flash of terror ripped through the fog clouding her mind as bone-chilling fear threatened to freeze her in its grip. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the light and she was able to make out his gruesome features, the matted gray hair and whiskers, his filthy tight robes, the long yellow nails on his dirty hands. She fought to summon some shred of courage. She couldn’t let him see how terrified she was—that was the reaction he wanted.   
  
Working to hide her pain and fear and with an air of confidence she didn’t feel, she tipped her chin defiantly. “Quite.”  
  
He roared with laughter. “You seem pretty brave, my sweet.”  
  
In spite the waves of tremors building inside her, she kept her head high. “They’ll come for me. My family-- they’ll come for me.”   
  
Greyback gave a sharp bark of laughter. “They’ll never find this place. It’s protected by a Fidelius Charm and I’m the Secret Keeper.”  
  
Ginny’s heart nearly stopped at his words. She couldn’t hold her confident pose any longer as he stepped closer, running a finger down her cheek and baring his pointed teeth at the end of her nose. She pulled away, but was stopped by the wall behind her.   
  
“Not so brave now, are you, pretty?” he said, his voice a low growl.  
  
Lightening quick, his hand shot out and gripped her throat, lifting her off the floor till her feet dangled and squeezing until bright stars began to pop before her eyes.   
  
“No one is coming after you,” Greyback snarled. “You’re mine, now, and you’ll do as I say.”  
  
She clawed desperately at his fingers, her lungs nearly bursting with the need for air. Then, just as she thought she could almost see Fred welcoming her beyond the Veil, Greyback released her. She fell to the ground with a gasp, followed by a shriek of pain as her injured ankle buckled and she landed on her side, pain like cold steel piercing her ribs. Sobbing and gasping for air, she huddled on the ground at his feet.  
  
He kicked her in the side and she shrieked. “Sit up! I want to see what I’ve got for my trouble.”  
  
She feebly tried to push herself up, but her trembling arms wouldn’t hold and she fell back to the floor in a heap. He moved to kick her again and she curled into a ball to protect herself. His foot connected with the side of her head with Bludger-like force. She screamed in pain.  
  
“No, please. Please, stop.” She sobbed into her arms. “Please…”  
  
“I said sit up!”  
  
Ginny forced her traitorous arms to support her weight and managed to lean herself back against the wall facing him. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, making herself as small as possible, trying desperately to control her sobs.  
  
Greyback took a step back and looked her over carefully. “Yeah, you’re the one. Those idiots finally did something right.”   
  
Ginny watched him, refusing to break eye contact as much as she wanted to. She tried to summon her previous bravado, but her voice quivered and was barely above a whisper. “Why me?”  
  
Greyback broke into a sinister grin. “I remembered you. From the battle at Hogwarts—both times.” He bent over her and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. Her heart beat in her throat as he continued, his eyes unfocused, seeing the past. “You’re a powerful witch for one so young—and brave—pureblood, too, I’ve learned. But your family are notorious blood traitors. You’re the sister of that one I didn’t get to finish the first time at Hogwarts, the one who works at Gringott’s. And your other brother is Potter’s friend.”  
  
His eyes came back into focus and pierced into hers. She yelped as he yanked on the hair tangled around his fingers, pulling most of it away as he stood to loom over her again. Ginny curled tighter into herself, willing her quaking body not to give away her terror.   
  
“But, there’s something different.” He considered her carefully, the flame of her locks glowing against the yellowed finger he tapped on his chin. “I thought you were a child.”  
  
She swiped at her tears and the bit of blood running close to her eye. “I’m seventeen today,” she whispered.  
  
He was instantly furious again. “ONE DAY?” he roared with rage. “ONE DAY? Those idiots will pay for this!”  
  
As he picked up the chair by the table, Ginny flinched, anticipating the blow. She whimpered with relief when he sent it flying at the fireplace instead, but quickly cowered against the wall as he turned on her. He seized her by the shoulders and flung her onto the straw mattress like a rag doll. She screamed in pain and terror as he dropped to his knees beside her.   
  
Sobs wracked her body and echoed off the stone walls as she tried to scramble away from him. He grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her back to him. When he raised his fist, she turned her face to avoid the blow… but it didn’t come. When he dropped her back to the smelly straw with a growl and stood, she ventured a peek to see what he was doing. An owl had arrived.  
  
He chuckled to himself as he read the note. “Well, well. Dolohov has finally responded to my request for a meeting.”  
  
Ginny watched him wide-eyed, too frightened to fully comprehend what he was saying. He looked up from the parchment and bent over her. She pressed herself against the wall, but he grabbed the front of her robes and pulled her up to face him. The stench of him set her stomach churning. She bit her tongue to keep from vomiting in his face.  
  
“Looks like you get a reprieve, birthday girl—for now. I have to go, but I’ll leave you something to look forward to. When I return, you’ll bear my cub to continue the Greyback line. If you behave yourself, I might even let you live to care for it.”  
  
With that, he threw her back to the mattress with a thud and left.  
  
Blackness threatened to engulf her as Ginny realized his meaning—a cub... continue the Greyback line... He wanted her to have his baby.  
  
She barely made it to the edge of the mattress before she began retching violently, but with nothing in her stomach, the heaves brought up only bile and left her weak and shivering. She rolled herself into a ball and gave in to unconsciousness.  
  
***  
  
The sun was sitting in the treetops behind the Burrow. Harry stood at the garden wall, his head in his hands. He’d never felt more helpless or hopeless in his life. Always before, when someone he loved was in trouble, he’d been able to do something—search out the Chamber of Secrets, use a Time Turner, fly on a broom or Thestral… _something._    
  
He knew, of course, that his burning drive to act at the first sign of trouble could lead to disaster. Sirius had died and his friends were injured because of his rash decision to go to the Ministry two years ago. But this was different. He  _knew_  Ginny was in danger and he knew, no matter what orders Robards gave him, he would risk everything to save her if he could.  
  
What he  _didn’t_  know was where to go, what to do… and, it was killing him.  
  
“It’s not your fault, you know.”  
  
His head snapped up at the sound of Hermione’s quiet voice next to him. He looked at her briefly, but didn’t respond.  
  
“Harry, you’ve got to stop beating yourself up,” she said gently, putting a hand on his arm. “This isn’t necessarily even about you. Greyback’s got it in for everyone.”  
  
“But why Ginny?” he asked in an anguished voice.   
  
“She’s a means to an end,” Hermione said rationally. “He knows she’s the only daughter. What better way to torment the Weasleys?”  
  
Harry shook her hand off and began to pace in frustration.   
  
“Why haven’t we heard from him? Why haven’t we heard from Robards? What are they doing to find her?” He stopped and faced her. “Hermione, it’s been more than twenty-four hours. There’s no telling what he’s doing to her—I can’t just stand around here and wait!”  
  
Hermione watched him sadly for a moment. “Where are you going to go? He could’ve taken her anywhere in Great Britain. Or, for that matter, he could’ve taken her out of the country. They could be anywhere.”  
  
His shoulders sagged in defeat and he leaned heavily against a tree. He slid down the trunk until he was sitting, then pulled his knees up close and rested his forehead on them. “I just feel so helpless.”  
  
Hermione knelt down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders. He lifted his head wearily.  
  
“I never got a chance to tell her—” he stopped as his voice cracked. “What if—” He looked away and blinked rapidly.  
  
“Shhh,” she whispered. “We have to keep hoping—believing—she’ll be okay.”  
  
***  
  
Ginny hardly moved on the smelly mattress. The horror of Greyback’s words echoed in her head, numbing her soul, extinguishing all hope of escape.   
  
Her body throbbed with pain and her stomach cramped from lack of food, though she knew she couldn’t eat if she had any. She slept a great deal, mostly because she couldn’t help it, but she didn’t try hard to fight it. It was her only escape. In most of her dreams, Fred stood against a backdrop of light, holding a hand out to her. She wanted desperately to go to him.  
  
When she was awake, she listlessly watched the dust motes float in the strands of sunlight coming through the boarded up window and let her mind drift through her memories of the people she was beginning to believe she’d never see again. Had she ever told her parents how much she loved them and appreciated all they’d done for her? She could imagine them worried sick about her. And her brothers—had she really made her peace with Percy? It had been months since she’d seen Charlie and she owed him a letter. Who would look after George? She wouldn’t get to see Ron and Hermione married, or Bill and Fleur's children. And Harry…  
  
She couldn’t even think about Harry without starting to sob again, though by now she had no tears left to shed. She’d been nothing but a shrew with him since the war and now she’d have no chance to make it right.   
  
More and more she began to see death as her only way out of this nightmare. The vision of Fred, looking so peaceful, beckoning to her, had become her lifeline. She willed her thoughts in his direction, sending up prayers for him to come rescue her.  
  
But in her better moments, she became angry with herself for giving in. She gathered her courage and tried to think of some way out, some way to get word to her family. The problem was, even if she could get word to them, she had no idea where to tell them to come. She thought the cottage was in the woods—she could hear birds nearby and water was flowing in the distance. But, that could put her anywhere. And even if she could get them here, the Fidelius Charm would keep them from finding her.   
  
When terror wasn't sending her into a blind panic, despair seeped into her spirit. She grasped desperately at her final shreds of control. As the rays of the sun were beginning to evaporate, she surveyed the room one last time, looking for anything to rekindle her hope.   
  
She saw it.   
  
Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Her cloak—and in the pocket, her portkey. Her way home.  
  
It was charmed to take her to the shop in the mornings and home again in the evening. But George had set it not to activate unless someone was holding it, so it wouldn’t end up in one place when she was in the other if she missed the time on either end. All she had to do was figure out a way to get to it. The cloak was hanging on a peg beside the fireplace—far beyond the reach of her chain.   
  
The door slammed open. Ginny jumped and let out a sob of fear. She breathed a small breath of relief that it was only one of Greyback's minions, but eased into a sitting position so she could better protect herself if she needed to.   
  
She studied the grungy man from beneath her lashes. Like Greyback, he was filthy and unshaved, with torn, ill-fitting clothes, smelling of sweat and death. She suspected he was a werewolf, but he didn’t have Greyback’s arrogance. Right now he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.  
  
He dropped a plate of slop (was that supposed to pass for food?) to the floor in front of her and eyed her as if she were a forbidden treat.   
  
She raised her chin and met his gaze unflinchingly. “Thank you.”  
  
He grunted and turned back toward the door.  
  
“Sir?” she asked tentatively.  
  
He stopped and looked at her suspiciously.  
  
“Could I have my cloak—by the fireplace?” She pointed and gave him her best pleading look, the one that had always worked on her brothers. “It gets so cold in here at night.”  
  
He studied her for a moment. “Wha’ do I care if yeh get cold?”  
  
“He—he might not like it if I get sick,” Ginny said, choking back the panic rising in her throat. She  _had_  to convince him to help her.  
  
Grungy studied her for another moment then walked over to the fireplace. She tried desperately to keep the hope from showing in her eyes. He grabbed the cloak and started to throw it at her, then stopped. She could almost see his slow brain kick into gear before he started going through the pockets. When he pulled out the small pink bear—Ron had thought it a good joke to make her favorite childhood toy into a portkey—he gave a mocking laugh. “Oh, looky. The little girl wants her—”  
  
Before he could finish the sentence, the bear glowed blue and Grungy disappeared. Ginny wailed in defeat and crumpled to the floor.  
  
***  
  
Ron emerged from the kitchen door as dusk was beginning to settle.   
  
“Hey, you two, come inside. Mum’s cooked enough for a week…”  
  
Harry raised his head. “She’s still cooking?”  
  
Ron shrugged. “It’s how she handles stress.”  
  
Harry got up reluctantly and followed Ron and Hermione into the house. He wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Weasley’s feelings.  
  
Everyone, including Charlie who had arrived from Romania at lunchtime, gathered around the kitchen table and pretended to eat. Conversation was minimal. Tension was thick. They were all waiting for word—anything—that would give them some news, give them some hope.  
  
Ron had just got up to get another butterbeer when a blue glow filled the kitchen. Harry’s heart leapt as he realized what was happening. Everyone stopped breathing, frozen in anticipation of the arrival.   
  
Several seconds passed as they stared in shock at the scruffy wizard standing before them, looking alarmed at the turn of events. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, they all sprang into action. Ron tackled the man who stared in bewilderment at the four wand tips pointed at the end of his nose.  
  
“Where’s my sister, you bastard!” Ron shouted as he banged the greasy head on the floor.  
  
“I can’t tell you,” the wizard cried, realizing the seriousness of landing in the midst of Ginny’s formidable family.   
  
“What do you mean you can’t tell us?” Bill yelled. “You’ve got her portkey and cloak. Tell us where she is before I—”  
  
The man held up his hands. “Do I look like a Secret Keeper to you?”  
  
Harry’s heart stopped at the implication of the words. How would they ever find her?   
  
“No, but you look like a bloody foul git,” Ron said as he landed a punch.  
  
“Ron, don’t kill him, he’s our only link to Ginny,” Hermione cried.  
  
“What’s Greyback done with her?” Charlie asked.  
  
“Nothin’—yet,” the wizard said with a smirk of his bleeding mouth.  
  
“Yet? What’s that suppose to mean?” Charlie asked, pressing his wand into the man’s Adam’s apple. “What’s he going to do to her?”  
  
The man swallowed and shook his head.  
  
“Talk! Or I’ll be sure that you never do again,” Charlie said, jabbing his wand into the fleshy neck.  
  
The man’s eyes went wide. “An heir. He wants an heir—”  
  
Harry thought he was going to pass out. His knees gave way and he sank with a thud onto the bench beside him. Every Weasley had frozen in place, unable to make sense of what they’d just heard. Hermione’s gasp brought them back to life. Ron landed another punch that knocked the man out cold. They looked at one another in stunned silence as Mrs. Weasley began sobbing.  
  
Bill bound the prisoner and Percy made a Floo call to Robards, who showed up with a couple of Aurors to take him in for questioning. Bill and Percy went to the Ministry to find out what more he had to say, but no one was very hopeful that he could lead them to where she was being held.  
  
Harry stood in the shadows of the kitchen, watching the others search for ways to cope with the incomprehensible turn of events. Arthur held Molly as she wept, rubbing her back, murmuring gently. Charlie paced angrily from the kitchen to the sitting room and back again. George had retreated into himself in a chair by the fire. Ron sat with his arm around Hermione, watching her as she frowned in concentration at the small pink bear in her hand.   
  
She abruptly stood. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Ron and was gone in a green flash, taking the bear with her. Ron motioned for Harry to go outside.  
  
“She’s thought of something,” he said, once they were out of earshot of the kitchen. “I don’t know what, yet, but I could almost hear her brain working.”  
  
“I hope so. I can’t take much more of this,” Harry said wearily.  
  
They paced the garden for nearly half an hour before they heard her footsteps on the path.  
  
“I  _Apparated_  back,” she said quietly when they had gathered at the back wall. “I didn’t want to come through the kitchen and get your mum’s hopes up. I’m not sure this will work.”  
  
They nodded and waited expectantly. Harry knew there was no rushing Hermione when she was working on a plan.  
  
“I went home to check one of my books. I remembered seeing a spell somewhere to make a portkey return to where it last departed if it’s been taken from its original location.”  
  
“Well?” Ron was getting impatient.  
  
“Well,” she said in her I’ll-get-there-when-I’m-ready voice. “I found it.”  
  
Harry’s heart lifted as hope ruffled its wings and prepared to soar.  
  
“What about the Fidelius Charm?” Ron asked.  
  
“Since it brought the wizard from within the charm, it’ll get us back in—like the process turned it into a Secret Keeper. The spell’s complicated, though. If I don’t get it right, we won’t have another chance.”  
  
“Hermione, you can do anything,” Harry said excitedly. “It’ll work.”  
  
She looked at him gratefully, her eyes still full of doubt. “Thanks, but I’m not so sure. There’s one other thing, though. It’s going to be very dangerous because we don’t know where it will take us and who will be there. It’ll be the same situation that wizard found himself in when he landed in the kitchen earlier.”  
  
“Which is exactly why I should go alone,” Harry said. “One person can probably get in and out more quickly.”  
  
“Rubbish!” Ron said. “In the first place, we’ve had this conversation before—we’re a team. And in the second place, you heard what Robards said. You’ll jeopardize your Auror training. You shouldn’t go at all.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “I don’t care about that. I’m going. It’s what I’ve been training for all summer. Besides, you’re the one who should stay. Your mother would do a nutter if anything happened to another one of her kids.”  
  
“She’d feel the same way if something happened to you,” Ron said, his voice rising in irritation.  
  
“Shhh! Keep your voice down,” Hermione interrupted. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’ll all go.”  
  
Harry clenched his jaw, not liking the idea, but he took the bear from Hermione and held it out to her. “Do it.”  
  
“I’ll charm it to return in fifteen minutes. If we don’t find her right away, we’ll come back and think of another plan. Let’s try to get an idea of where we are so we can go back if we need to and tell the Aurors where to find Greyback.”  
  
Harry held out the bear. She touched it with her wand and spoke the spell. Just as the familiar blue glow ignited, he jerked it from their reach and was gone—alone.  
  
***  
  
Ginny tucked her knees tighter to her chest and drew a shuddering breath. Once the portkey was gone so was her hope. Drained and listless, she yearned for the escape of sleep that now eluded her. The pounding in her head had dulled a bit, but her ankle was throbbing and she couldn’t find a comfortable position to cushion against the shards of pain tearing into her side. Hungry and tired and cold, she longed for a warm bath to wash away the grime and soothe her aching body. She stared blindly into the darkness and drew a shuddering breath, her mind unable to form a coherent thought.  
  
When the faint blue glow began to appear, her sluggish brain didn’t recognize it. As it grew brighter, she lifted her head, wondering if she had finally gone over the edge and was hallucinating. By the time it reached its peak and extinguished, she had pushed herself into a sitting position, afraid to believe what she’d just seen. The brief blaze of light had been enough to make her eyes readjust and she couldn’t make out in the darkness if someone was really standing in the room.  
  
“Ginny?”  
  
The whisper came from the one voice she’d dreamed of hearing. She couldn’t form words to answer, but her sob of relief was enough.  
  
 _“Lumos_.”   
  
Harry was kneeling before her in a heartbeat, holding her close as she cried silently into his chest.  
  
“Shhh. We need to be quiet.  _Nox_ ,” he whispered, extinguishing his wand. “Can you stand?”  
  
She shook her head and tried to control her heaving sobs.  
  
“It’s okay. I’m here.” He continued to murmur words of comfort, cradling her gently until she finally quieted. He pressed the tiny bear into her hands. “Hold this. Whatever you do, don’t put it down, and don’t let anyone take it from you. It’s set to go back to the Burrow in fifteen minutes. Just stay still. I’ll be right back.”  
  
“Wait!” she whispered in a panic, clutching at his sleeve. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me—”  
  
“I need to find out where we are so we can come back and get that bas—” He paused and drew a deep breath. She could tell he was working to control his anger. “Just stay still. I’ll be back.”  
  
She watched his shadowy form move across the darkened room and heard his whispered  _“Alohamora_.” He pulled the door open a crack to be sure the coast was clear, then slipped into the night. As the moments ticked by, her heart raced frantically with fear for him. Her ears strained to distinguish the night noises, unsure of whether she was imagining the sound of footsteps and terrified of whose they might be. When he finally slipped silently back in, she slumped against the wall in relief.   
  
“There are about a dozen of them around the fire in the clearing,” he whispered as he knelt next to her. “I can’t tell where we are, so I marked the ground behind the house with an X. Maybe we can find it from the air.” He reached into the dark and cupped her cheek. “Ginny—did he—” He paused a moment as if struggling for the right words. “He—he didn’t—”  
  
She leaned into his palm and closed her eyes. “No.” His skin felt so good against hers.  
  
He relaxed and let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been so scared, so afraid that I—”  
  
The door crashed open and firelight filled the room. Harry was up in a heartbeat, putting himself between Ginny and Greyback and his torch-bearing goons.  
  
“Well, well,” Greyback said. “What have we here?”  
  
“Back off, Greyback,” Harry said.   
  
Ginny huddled behind Harry, wanting to take hold of his leg in case the portkey activated, but he had stepped beyond her reach. She inched forward, trying to get into position without calling attention to herself so she could grab him at the last moment. She wasn’t following the banter, but she could tell Harry was trying to keep Greyback talking, stalling for time.  
  
She slid forward a bit more, staying low and directly behind Harry so Greyback couldn’t see what she was doing. She was almost there… just a bit more…  
  
The bear glowed and she lunged forward. Her hand closed on air.  
  
***   
  
As soon as he saw the blue light, Harry took advantage of Greyback’s momentary surprise to dive through the rotten boards covering the window and roll into the darkness. He jumped to his feet and made a dash for the trees, dodging the jets of red and green that followed him.   
  
As he disappeared into the relative safety of the dark woods, relief that Ginny was gone washed over him. He had been toying with the idea of sending her back alone—he needed to stay and finish it with Greyback or they’d never have any peace. When the door had crashed open, the decision was made for him.  
  
He ran deep into the woods and hid behind the broad trunk of a tree. He could hear Greyback and his men thrashing the undergrowth looking for him. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the one weapon that would serve him best in this situation—his Invisibility Cloak.  
  
“You might as well come out, Potter,” Greyback called. “We’ve got these woods charmed. You can’t get out and you can’t  _Disapparate_. You’re outnumbered twelve to one. Time to give up.”  
  
Harry flung the cloak over himself and crouched next to the tree. His Auror training had prepared him well—he had a plan.  
  
“Split up!” Greyback yelled to his men. “If you find him, bind him and bring him to the clearing. No killing curses. Potter’s mine.”   
  
Harry smiled to himself. Dark wizards were so arrogant.  
  
***  
  
“Noooo!” Ginny screamed as she landed in the garden at the Burrow.   
  
Suddenly, Ron and Hermione were kneeling next to her.  
  
“Ron, you’ve got to go back,” she wailed, clutching at his shirt. “You’ve got to go help him. There were too many of them. They’ll kill him. Please, Ron, please…”  
  
Ron and Hermione exchanged a panicked look. “Ginny, what happened? Where’s Harry?”  
  
She fell sobbing to the ground. “I couldn’t get to him. He was too far away. I couldn’t reach him.”  
  
Ron picked her up and headed toward the house as the rest of the Weasleys poured from the kitchen door to investigate the commotion. He set her gently on the sofa in the sitting room and the family gathered around trying to make sense of this latest development. Ron and Hermione were trying to explain what had happened as Molly began tending her wounds.  
  
“Get away from me, Mum.” She impatiently pushed her mother away and reached out to her brothers. “Please, please, you’ve got to go…”  
  
They looked worriedly at one another and back at her, clearly frustrated at not being able to help. She knew they thought she had gone round the bend.  
  
Arthur finally took charge. “Charlie, pick her up and let’s get her to St. Mungo’s. Percy, owl Robards to meet us there.”  
  
“No! No!” Ginny knew she was becoming hysterical, but she didn’t care. She beat on Charlie’s shoulders as he lifted her. Why wouldn’t they understand? “You’ve got to go back. Please. They’re going to kill him. You’ve got to go…”  
  
“Where, Ginny? Where do we go?” Ron finally asked in exasperation.  
  
She paused, thinking for a moment, then whispered in a bewildered voice, “I don’t know… oh, I don’t know…” and broke down completely, sobbing hopelessly into Charlie’s shirt.  
  
The trip to St. Mungo’s took only a couple of minutes and she was quickly tucked into bed. Two of her brothers had to hold her down so the sedative potion could be forced down her throat. The darkness quickly took her.


	8. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the long night and into the day, Harry and Ginny battle their own demons.

“Your daughter is a very lucky young lady,” Ginny heard an unfamiliar voice say through the thick fog surrounding her brain.   
  
“You say she wasn’t—he didn’t…” She heard her father’s voice trail off.   
   
“No, she wasn’t raped, only badly beaten.” He must be a Healer, Ginny supposed. “Her injuries are mending, but she’s also suffering from mental distress. It’s to be expected after what she’s been through. We need to keep her at least a couple of days to be sure she’s not—well, to be sure she won’t hurt herself when we release her.”  
  
Ginny heard a woman gasp. Mum?  
  
“We’ll give her Dreamless Sleep Potion for tonight and run some tests in the morning,” the Healer said.  
  
“Yes. Right. Of course, that’s the best thing to do.” Dad sounded tired. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”  
  
She heard the door open and footsteps walking away as it closed again.  
  
“Oh, Arthur, what are we going to do? I don’t think I can take any more.”  
  
“Don’t worry, dear. She’s going to be okay.”  
  
“But what about Harry?”  
  
“This is what he’s training for. We’ll have to get used to him being in danger. He’s proved over and over again that he can handle himself. We’ll just have to trust him… just believe he can do it again.”  
  
Ginny’s heart lurched. Harry wasn’t back yet. And it was her fault. If he hadn’t come after her…  
  
“We owe him so much,” Molly said. She walked over and began stroking Ginny’s hair. “This is the second time he’s saved her.”  
  
“Our family would definitely be much smaller if not for Harry,” Arthur said.  
  
Ginny tried to open her eyes. Every cell in her body felt heavy and sluggish, reluctant to obey her brain’s commands. She finally managed to make her eyelids lift just enough to see her mother. “Mum?” she breathed almost inaudibly.  
  
Molly jumped slightly, but smiled with relief as she looked at Arthur before answering. “We’re here, dear.”  
  
Ginny struggled to focus. “Love you,” she whispered, as her lids fluttered closed.  
  
“We know. We love you, too,” Molly said gently. “Now rest, dear. We’ll be right here.”  
  
Ginny allowed the darkness to take her back to peaceful oblivion.   
  
***  
  
Harry spent the long night drawing on his Auror training, working hard to keep his mind clear. He couldn’t yet unleash his simmering rage on Greyback—it would only hinder him for now. But when the time was right…  
  
Creeping silently through the trees, Harry methodically picked off Greyback’s men one by one. A binding and silencing spell put them out of commission; then he hid them in the underbrush until he could come back for them. It was almost too easy. With the advantages of invisibility and the nearly moonless night, he felt as if he was plucking Flobberworms from a bucket. As the dawn broke, with only one opponent left, the odds were more to his liking. He wanted to take this one face-to-face.   
  
Harry watched through the trees as Greyback stalked about, growing more angry by the moment. The werewolf was beginning to realize he was alone.  
  
“ _Homenum revelio_ ,” Greyback shouted as he waved his wand around the forest.   
  
Harry ducked quickly behind a gnarled tree, knowing the spell would let Greyback know he was there, but that the tree would protect him from a direct hit by a more damaging curse.   
  
“Potter, I know you’re there,” Greyback yelled. “Show yourself.”  
  
Greyback inched his way around the tree. Harry worked his way quietly around the trunk in the opposite direction. His foot snagged on a root and he grabbed the tree to catch his balance—his fingers hit an indentation that wasn’t a natural part of the bark.   
  
He finally knew where he was.  
  
In the grey morning mist, he could make out the small cross he had gouged into the tree nearly a year ago to mark the resting place of Mad-Eye Moody’s magical eye. These were the woods where they had attended the Quidditch World Cup and where he, Ron, and Hermione had hidden after their infiltration of the Ministry to retrieve the locket.  
  
Harry looked up as he heard Greyback moving again. Easing around the tree, he kept the werewolf in sight, waiting for the right time to make his move.  
  
Suddenly, Greyback flicked his wand and Harry heard a crack overhead. He dived away from the tree, but not before the huge branch caught his legs, pinning them to the ground.   
  
***  
  
Ginny drifted from the blackness as she felt a hand take hers. She willed her eyelids apart just enough to see George sitting in a chair next to her bed, watching her intently.   
  
“Robards is furious.” Percy was standing at the end of the bed, speaking quietly.   
  
George never took his eyes from Ginny’s face as he responded. “Harry’s going to be in trouble, isn’t he?”  
  
“If he comes back.”   
  
The flat statement sent a jolt through her, even though it didn’t carry Percy’s usual tone of superiority. He sounded almost worried. If Percy was worried…  
  
Tears flooded her vision and a strangled sob escaped. Before her heart could beat again, George was leaning over her, wiping her tears, and Percy had moved up to put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“It’s okay, Ginny. You’re safe. We’re here,” George whispered gently.  
  
She squeezed his hand just before she slipped back into the darkness.  
  
***  
  
Harry clamped his teeth together to keep from shouting in pain as the limb weighed heavily on his legs. Still beneath his Invisibility Cloak, he held his breath as Greyback stepped cautiously closer, looking for some sign of movement. Harry gripped his wand, waiting for the right moment. Just a little closer… A little more… Swish! Flick! The branch jumped from the ground right into Greyback’s face, knocking him backwards with a resounding crack.   
  
Under cover of the resulting roar of pain, Harry scrambled around the tree and grimaced as he got back to his feet. His right knee was throbbing, but it held when he put weight on it. He took advantage of the momentary distraction to send his Patronus to the Ministry, then turned his attention back to the enemy.  
  
Greyback staggered to his feet, blood dripping from the matted hair above his forehead into his eyes. With a bellow of rage, he threw curses at random through the trees.   
  
A log behind Harry exploded, showering splinters over him and defining his invisible shape. He dropped to the ground behind the tree and vanished the debris.  
  
Greyback was quiet for a moment, listening to see if he’d managed a hit. Harry waited.  
  
“The little cunt’s probably not worth this trouble,” Greyback said conversationally as he picked his way from tree to tree in Harry’s direction.  
  
Harry maneuvered away, his anger beginning to fight for freedom at the taunt.   
  
“At least not any more,” Greyback said.  
  
Harry began circling around where Greyback stood, biting his tongue to keep from responding.  
  
“I like to pop the cherry, you know. That’s why I poke ‘em young.”  
  
Harry grew still, the grip on his rage slipping. He’d managed until now to shove away the memory of the fear in her eyes, but Greyback was chipping away his defenses.  
  
“She was a fighter. That made it all the better—”  
  
Ginny’s battered face sprang to his mind and before Harry could stop he gave himself away. “No! She said—”  
  
 _“Stupefy_!” Greyback shouted, pointing his wand toward the sound of Harry’s voice.  
  
The red bolt of light just missed as Harry dived behind a huge rotting stump. He stashed his cloak, giving up the advantage of invisibility in favor of agility. Peering around the edge of the weathered wood, he watched Greyback search the ground where he thought Harry should have landed.  
  
 _“Stupefy_!” Harry’s hex missed as Greyback threw himself to the ground and rolled under a bush.  
  
“Potter, you’re wasting your time protecting the bitch. She’s carryin’ my cub, now.”  
  
“You’re lying,” Harry yelled, sending a flash toward the bush that missed its mark and felled a tree between them. He dashed through the woods to hide behind a cluster of small trees, seeking a better position to attack. The thought of that monster’s hands on Ginny made his stomach roil and his rage began to take over.    
  
Greyback clambered over the tree and ducked behind a wide oak.  
  
“Am I? How do you know I didn’t use a memory charm?”  
  
Harry gritted his teeth to keep from answering the gibe. He was shaking with the need to hurt this creature, but he couldn’t lose control now. With a flick of his wand, he sent a branch crashing to the ground on Greyback’s left and darted to the right. From this position, he had a clear shot at the werewolf crouched behind the tree—there was nothing to stop him now.  
  
“Because you’re not that clever,” Harry called. When Greyback stood to take aim, Harry shouted  _“Expelliarmus_!  _Incarcerus_!”  
  
Greyback crashed into the tree then fell in a heap bound by magical ropes. Harry lunged and landed a punch to the jaw, then with one hand around the werewolf’s neck, he jabbed the tip of his wand into the matted grey beard.  
  
“You’re going to pay for what you did to her,” Harry growled, tightening his grip on the hairy throat.  
  
Greyback laughed. “You don’t have what it takes to do the job.”  
  
Harry’s fury finally unleashed itself. He dropped his wand and used both hands to begin squeezing the life out of the mocking eyes. The eyes were bulging and the lips turning blue when Harry was hit by a flash of red that sent him flying into a tree behind him.  
  
***  
  
“I willl go and get us some tea.”  
  
Fleur’s voice drifted into Ginny’s haze. She heard the door open and close again.  
  
“I could use something stronger than tea.”   
  
Charlie? What was Charlie doing here? Oh, yes. She vaguely remembered him carrying her to St. Mungo’s.  
  
“Yeah, but this is a hospital.”  
  
Ginny managed to drag her heavy eyelids back enough to see Bill sprawled in a chair against the wall. Charlie paced restlessly back and forth at the foot of her bed.   
  
“I’d like to feed that bastard to my Horntail. Whatever the Ministry does to him won’t be nearly enough.” Charlie was as angry as she’d ever seen him.  
  
“I know. I’d like a chance at him, myself,” Bill said.  
  
“Did Percy say if they’ve got anything out of that useless bit of skin that landed in our kitchen?”  
  
“He’s singing like a bird. Said Greyback had planned to take Teddy to raise as an heir, but when Harry got in the way, he decided to use Ginny to spawn his own clan of werewolves.”  
  
Charlie spouted a string of profanity that painted a vivid picture of what he would do to Greyback if he had the chance.  
  
“You want to hear something even worse?” Bill asked. “Seems Bellatrix cursed Greyback as a joke a few years ago—he can’t get it up for anyone who doesn’t have a Trace unless it’s the full moon.”  
  
Charlie stopped pacing and stared at Bill. “That’s just sick!”  
  
“Yeah. Don’t know if that’s why he likes kids so much or if she cursed him because he already did.”  
  
“Bill.” Charlie made a choking sound, as if he was trying to keep down his supper. “Think what would’ve happened if that bastard had got Ginny a day earlier.”  
  
“I know,” Bill said grimly.  
  
Suddenly, Ginny’s mind took her back to the dim room. She could smell the air of that place and the sweat and death that clung to him, feel the straw as he flung her onto it and the terror as he dropped down beside her. She whimpered and shuddered violently.   
  
Charlie jumped to her side and gathered her to him. “Shhh. You’re okay. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”  
  
She clung to him, shaking with silent sobs as he rocked her and murmured soothing words. In Charlie’s thick, muscular arms, she felt safe, protected, as if nothing in the world could ever harm her again, and the memories began to fade.  
  
But she’d left Harry behind. Was he still out there? She mustered all her strength and forced her eyes open. “Harry?” she whispered.  
  
Charlie threw a quick, worried glance at Bill before looking back down at her. “Harry’s fine. He’s going to be fine.”  
  
They weren’t fooling her. She squeezed her eyes shut on a fresh flood of tears and gave a wail of despair, turning her face into Charlie’s chest and sobbing quietly until sleep claimed her again.  
  
***  
  
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Potter?”  
  
Robards sounded furious, but Harry ignored him and lunged forward to renew his attack. Two Aurors grabbed him. It took both of them to hang on as he fought to get free.   
  
“Let me go! Let me—”  
  
“Enough!” Robards stepped in front of Harry with a look that brooked no argument.  
  
Harry stopped fighting, but glared mutinously at the Head Auror.   
  
“Are there others?” Robards asked.  
  
Still panting with fury, Harry struggled for control. “Yeah. They’re in the underbrush.”  
  
Robards motioned for the other Aurors to round up the prisoners, and looked at the two still restraining Harry. “Take the wolf back. I’ll be there shortly.” He gave Harry a piercing look. “I’ll deal with you later.”  
  
With no one to hold him up, Harry slumped against the tree as the rush of rage and adrenaline began to recede. Dizzy and exhausted, he dropped his head between his knees. He still trembled with the need to break Greyback into a million pieces, but Ginny was safe. The thought made him almost weak with relief.  
  
Still... now that he had time to think, alarm bells began going off in his head. What if Greyback was telling the truth—what if he’d done the deed and Ginny just didn’t remember? Harry fought to control the panic that started surging through him.   
  
“Potter!” Robards shouted at him from the clearing. “Get back to the Ministry. Now! And don’t make any plans for a while.”   
  
***  
  
When Ginny opened her eyes, the sun was drifting through the small window at the other end of the room, bathing everything in a soft golden glow. Her head was less foggy, but she felt weighted to the bed by a heavy blanket of lethargy and hopelessness.   
  
Bits and pieces of memory drifted through her mind—Dean bleeding in the alley, Greyback standing in the doorway of the cottage, Harry coming, her parents and brothers sitting with her through the night. Or was it nights? She’d lost all track of time. How many days had it been? Where was Harry?  
  
She summoned the energy to turn her head enough to scan the room. Hermione was reading a book in the chair by the wall. Ron was sprawled in the chair next to her, snoring softly with his head on her shoulder. Ginny watched them quietly, thinking how right they looked together.  
  
Hermione looked up. Seeing that Ginny was awake, she pushed Ron off and moved quickly to the bed. He sat up, looking bewildered, like he was trying to figure out where he was.  
  
“Good morning. How are you feeling?”  
  
“Okay, considering,” Ginny said with a weak smile that quickly vanished into a look of concern. “Is Harry back?”  
  
Ron had stumbled to the bed and Hermione gave him a warning look.   
  
“No, not yet,” she said. “But, I’m sure he’s fine.” She didn’t sound very convincing.  
  
Ginny drew a shuddering breath and closed her eyes, but nodded. “Yes—yes, he’s fine. I know you’re right.” She didn’t sound convinced, either.  
  
“You gave us quite a scare last night,” Ron said. “We thought you were going all Lockhart on us.”  
  
“Ron!” Hermione said. “Could you be a little  _more_  tactless?”   
  
Ginny gave them what could almost pass as a real smile. “It’s okay, Hermione. I know I was a bit hysterical—”  
  
“A bit?” Ron asked with a snort.   
  
Hermione gave him a glare before turning back to Ginny. “Do you have any idea where you were? Did you recognize anything?”  
  
Ginny shook her head sadly. “All I saw was the inside of a stone cottage. The window was boarded up, and I couldn’t see out the door when—when he—came in.”  
  
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. “He didn’t—”   
  
“No,” Ginny said as she played with the edge of the blanket. “No—he was going to—” She looked away, unable to finish.  
  
Ron walked away from the bed, spewing a graphic stream of ways he’d like to hurt Greyback.  
  
“Don’t, Ron. Please. Let it go. I’m fine,” Ginny pleaded, wishing they would stop. She knew they had questions, but she couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t think about it. And she hated the way they were looking at her, as if she would crumble with the slightest touch. Mostly because they were right—she was using every ounce of strength to hold herself together. She grasped desperately at the only topic her mind could handle at the moment.  “I’m more worried about Harry, right now.”  
  
Hermione patted her hand. “We are, too.”  
  
“’Course once he gets here, I’m going to kill him,” Ron grumbled.  
  
“Ron!” Hermione hissed. “Not now!”  
  
He had the grace to look chastised. “Sorry.”  
  
Ginny couldn’t let it go. “Why?”  
  
Hermione gave him a warning look, but he ignored her. “We were supposed to go with him. He wouldn’t be out there by himself if he hadn’t snatched the Portkey away from us.”  
  
Hermione punched Ron in the arm as Ginny gave a sad little laugh. “Bet he was trying to protect you—for Mum’s sake.”  
  
Ron looked startled. “Yeah. How’d you know?”  
  
Ginny sighed. “That’s just so Harry.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Hermione said, glaring at Ron. “But Ron shouldn’t be worrying you with that now. You need to concentrate on getting well.”  
  
“I’ll feel better when he gets back.”  
  
“He really is going to be in trouble when he gets back, though,” Ron said. “Not with just me. With Robards.”  
  
Ginny remembered the exchange between George and Percy during the night. “But, why? He rescued me. He shouldn’t be in trouble.”  
  
Hermione gave Ron another exasperated look. “We shouldn’t be discussing this now.”  
  
He stepped out of reach and continued. “Robards gave him a direct order not to go after you by himself. Said it would jeopardize his Auror appointment.”  
  
“No!” Ginny looked horrified. “He’s wanted to be an Auror for years. They wouldn’t do that to him. They couldn’t, could they?”  
  
“Yes, they could,” Hermione said with a resigned look. “And I think Robards would. He’s trying to train Harry to make good decisions, to think things through before haring off.” Hermione wrung her hands. “I feel really terrible about this. It’s my fault. I found the spell to send the Portkey back. I should’ve taken it to Robards instead of doing it for us. Then Harry wouldn’t have had a chance to go by himself. “He’d be here—he’d be safe.”  
  
Ron put an arm around her. “It’s not your fault. Harry would’ve found another way. That’s just what he does.”  
  
“I know, but—”  
  
With a crash, the door banged open and George rushed in. “Harry’s Patronus just came in. Robards has taken some Aurors and gone to get him.”  
  
Ginny sagged against the pillows, tears of relief welling in her eyes. Ron whooped with joy and spun Hermione around in a hug.   
  
***  
  
Harry sat in the antechamber of the Minister’s office listening to the argument going on in the other room. They needn’t have bothered to close the door—he could hear every word perfectly.  
  
“I don’t care! It doesn’t matter that he took down Greyback and his goons by himself. I can’t have trainees disobeying direct orders. What kind of example does that set for the others?”  
  
“Robards, think! Beside the fact that you’d lose an excellent Auror, have you considered the public relations nightmare sacking him would cause? You’d be crucified in the press. _I’d_  be crucified in the press.”  
  
“Is that all you care about? Your reputation? I thought you were better than that Shacklebolt. You went through the program. You served nearly two decades as an Auror. Can you honestly say that PR is the most important issue here?”  
  
“No, I’m not saying that. But it is one important issue. Don’t you think it would be better—send a stronger message to the Dark wizards we’re trying to catch—to have Harry Potter on our side?”  
  
Harry had had enough. He opened the door without knocking and walked in, hoping he looked more confident than he felt.   
  
“Minister. Chief. I wish to offer my resignation from the Auror program.”  
  
“Harry—” Shacklebolt began.  
  
Harry raised a hand to stop him. “No, it’s okay. By resigning, I solve both of your problems. I’m not being forced out.” He looked directly at the Minister; then turned to look at Robards. “And I’m not a bad example to the other trainees. I made a deliberate decision to disobey the order. I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”  
  
Shacklebolt and Robards glared at each other a moment until the Minister finally ran his hands over his face and sighed. He motioned for them to be seated.  
  
“Please sit down. Let’s discuss this rationally.” He began to pace back and forth before them as they settled uneasily into their chairs.  
  
“Robards, I understand your dilemma. However, I suspect that you really don’t want to lose Harry as a trainee. Am I right?”  
  
Robards cast an angry glance at Harry. “Yeah,” he muttered reluctantly.  
  
The Minister nodded in agreement. “Harry, you deliberately disobeyed an order, but I suspect that you really don’t want to leave the program. Am I right?”  
  
Harry gave Robards a direct look. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“All right, then, we should be able to reach an agreeable compromise.” Shacklebolt paced back and forth a moment before turning toward Harry. “Harry, I understand that it was your personal connection to this case that prompted your decision. However, an Auror—a good Auror—must be able to separate his emotions from his work, or he places himself and others in grave danger. Are you willing to accept this requirement and work on your abilities to do so?”  
  
Harry looked at his shoes. He’d always acted on emotion. The people he loved were more important to him than anything. But he knew what the Minister said was true. Acting on emotion had got Sirius killed. He needed to be better than that. He looked up and said firmly, “Yes.”  
  
Shacklebolt gave a curt nod of approval. “Good.” He turned to Robards. “I understand that the other trainees must be taught that Harry’s actions are not acceptable. Do you think we can find a reasonable punishment, short of dismissal, that would send the proper message?”  
  
Robards considered the question a moment and considered Harry with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Yeah, I think we can.”  
  
***  
  
Ginny was exhausted. The morning had dragged, what with Healers running tests, Aurors asking questions, and her family hovering. If she had the energy she would scream.   
  
The Healers wanted her to stay another night, just to be sure everything was back to normal, they said, but she suspected they were concerned about her mental stability. They had good reason. She wasn’t sure of it herself. Truthfully, she was just as happy to lie right where she was and never move again. If she went home now, she’d have to endure her mother’s endless fussing—her brothers were almost as bad at this point—and she wasn’t up to it. Besides, just the thought of moving required far more effort than she wanted to consider.   
  
She wanted everyone to go away and leave her be, but she needed to be sure that Harry was okay, so she gritted her teeth and huddled under the covers to listen to the quiet conversations her family held when they thought she was sleeping. No one seemed to know what was going on, just that he was in a load of trouble with the Head Auror and the Minister of Magic.  
  
“He’s in with the Minister and they say he could be in there quite a while,” Bill said.  
  
“But they can’t punish him,” Molly cried. “He’s a hero. They should be giving him a medal.”  
  
“They don’t give medals when you disobey orders, Mother.” Percy’s tone of superiority was back. “Even if you’re Harry Potter.”  
  
“Did I hear my name?”  
  
Everyone crowded around Harry as he came in the door. Ginny pulled down the covers and situated herself a bit higher on her pillows so she could see what was going on. Harry brushed away their praise as he accepted handshakes and back slaps and hugs. He looked so good—his black t-shirt and jeans showed off his new muscular physique and set off the brilliant green of his eyes, though the dark circles beneath them and lines etched into his face told her that he was also utterly exhausted. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and soothe away his fatigue.  
  
Dragging her eyes away from him, she caught Hermione watching her and quickly shuttered the feelings she knew had to have been apparent in her expression. Hermione cleared her throat over the cacophony of voices.  
  
“Well, I’m famished. How about we all go get some lunch and let Ginny rest?”  
  
“But Harry just got here—” Ron started, then winced in pain as Hermione stepped on his foot. She glared a message that had him quickly recovering. “Uh, yeah! I’m starved. Why don’t we all go up to the tearoom?”  
  
Ginny smiled her thanks at Hermione.  
  
“Are you coming, Harry, dear?” Molly asked.  
  
“I’ll be along in a minute,” Harry said.   
  
Molly cast a knowing look from Harry to Ginny, then bustled everyone out of the room. When they were gone, Harry walked slowly to the bed, shoving his hands into his pockets.   
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Hi.” Ginny’s tongue became eleven years old again.  
  
“How are you?”  
  
“I’m okay. I think everything’s mending well. They say I might be able to go home tomorrow.” She felt like she was babbling.  
  
“That’s good. I’m glad.”  
  
“What about you? You look totally knackered. What happened after—after I left?”  
  
“I used my Invisibility Cloak and hid in the woods,” he said. “About dawn, I figured out where we were—the moor where we went to the Quidditch World Cup. I sent my Patronus to Robards. Greyback is locked up.” Harry stared into the distance with a grim look. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”   
  
“No!” Ginny said. “You can’t let yourself get down on his level.”  
  
Harry continued to look away, his eyes unfocused, jaw muscles flexing. Just as she started to ask what he was thinking, he finally looked back. “I know. You’re right. But he deserves much worse than he’ll get.”  
  
She didn’t have an answer. Part of her agreed and would like to do the deed herself, but the rest of her shied away from the topic altogether. She just wanted it all to go away. But she owed Harry answers if he wanted them. And he was fidgeting like he was fighting the urge to ask a difficult question. She took a deep breath and forced herself to draw it out of him.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
He looked at the floor and rocked back on his heels. When he raised his head, he couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. It took a few moments for him to speak. “They told me he didn’t—” He stopped and looked back at the floor.  
  
“No, he didn’t,” she said quietly. She watched his reaction and knew he wasn’t through.  
  
Harry pulled his hands from his pockets and flexed his fists as he began to pace restlessly. He finally stopped with his back to her and spoke. His voice was tight, as if he was forcing the words out. “He—Greyback—he told me…” Harry turned to face her, but wouldn’t meet her gaze. “He said he did, but he  _Obliviated_  you... so you wouldn't remember.”  
  
Ginny felt the blood rush from her head and she sank back into the pillow as the world tilted. Could it be true? She closed her eyes and allowed the memories to hurtle through her brain. She couldn’t remember—but then she wouldn’t, would she? No! Wait! The Healers…  
  
She opened her eyes to find him watching her, a look of anguish on his face.   
  
“No. The Healers checked. My—” She looked away as the heat rose in her face. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”  
  
The tension ran from his body and his expression relaxed. “You’re sure?”  
  
She nodded and played with the edge of her blanket. Several moments passed before she broke the silence. “You shouldn’t have jeopardized your career like that.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “You were in danger. I had to go.”  
  
Ginny studied him for a moment and gave a resigned sigh. “I know… I’m glad you did. Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
They looked at each other for a moment, before Ginny smiled. “That’s twice now.” At his puzzled look she continued, “Twice you’ve saved my life.” Her smile slipped and tears welled before she could stop them. “I owe you a lot.”  
  
Harry sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. At his touch, Ginny had to concentrate hard on what he was saying. “You don’t owe me anything. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. But I’d rather not have to.”  
  
“Me, too,” she agreed quietly. She watched his thumb trace the contours of her knuckles, his fingers sending little frissons up her arm. Dizzy with the need for more of his touch, to feel his arms around her again, she struggled to hold on to her friendly demeanor.   
  
Harry followed her gaze, then looked into her eyes. “Ginny, I—”  
  
He stopped at the sound of a soft knock on the door. Ginny groaned inwardly—not now! But when she saw who it was, she couldn’t help but invite him in.  
  
“Dean.” She hadn’t seen him since they’d been separated in the alley and in her last memory of him he was lying beaten and bloody on the ground. He looked better, if still a little bruised. “Come in. How are you?”  
  
Harry dropped her hand and quickly stepped away from the bed. The fleeting look of guilt on his face surprised her.  
  
“Hi—uh, sorry,” Dean said, looking at Harry. “I can come back.”  
  
“No, come in,” Harry said. “I was just leaving.”   
  
Dean came through the door and stuck his hand out to Harry. “Harry, thanks, mate. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you were able to find her and get her out of there.”  
  
Ginny noticed the muscle in Harry’s jaw flexing—a sign of irritation that made her wonder why he was angry with Dean—but he shook hands and shrugged.  
  
“You pointed us in the right direction. If you hadn’t made it into the shop before you passed out, we might never have known what happened in time. You’re the hero.”  
  
“No. I shouldn’t have let them take her in the first place,” Dean said sadly. “You taught me all the spells I needed to know, but—”  
  
“They took you by surprise. There was nothing more you could do.”   
  
“Yeah, but still…” Dean shook his head, then looked at Harry in awe. “Did you really take out Greyback and his whole gang by yourself? That’s amazing.”  
  
Harry shrugged and turned to Ginny. “I should go. I’m glad you’re doing well.” His words were stiff and formal—a disconcerting shift from the warmth and concern of moments before.   
  
Panic surged through her as he turned to leave. In the last couple of moments, he had built a wall between them that she wasn’t sure she had the spirit to breech. She couldn’t let him just walk out like this. He might not come back. Trying to keep the desperation out of her voice, she called out to him as he reached the door, “Harry, you’ll come to supper tomorrow, won’t you?”  
  
He paused before turning to give her a crooked smile. “If I’m not still asleep.” With a wave, he disappeared into the corridor.  
  
Weary and miserable, Ginny managed to fix on a smile and held out her hand to Dean. “I’m so glad to see you. I was worried sick that they’d—well, that you were okay.”  
  
“I’m fine,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re the one who was in danger. Are you really all right?”  
  
She smiled weakly, “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just very tired.”  
  
“You need to rest, so I’ll go.” He leaned forward and gave her a friendly hug. “You know what we talked about the other day? I’m here, if you need me—as a friend or more.”  
  
Ginny gave him a squeeze. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”  
  
***  
  
Harry leaned against the wall outside of Ginny’s room and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to still the tremors shaking his body, weak with relief that she was safe, that Greyback hadn’t done permanent damage. His fist clutched to his chest, he could still feel the warmth of her hand in his palm, her scent lingered in his head.   
  
She had looked so tired—her skin translucent, her eyes rimmed in red and hollowed by deep purple rings. Percy had told him how emotionally fragile she’d been upon returning to the Burrow. Harry wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to keep himself from taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless. For her sake, he was glad he hadn’t—she had enough to be getting on with right now. He didn’t want to make matters worse by complicating her life. If Dean hadn’t come in just then…  
  
Unable to resist one last look, he peeked through the window in the door and immediately regretted it as he saw them embrace. He shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d made it clear she wanted Dean, and Harry knew she was better off with someone who wouldn’t turn her into a target. But the image was no less painful for the knowledge.  
  
Harry turned on his heel and headed down the hall, despair clouding his mind, weighting his heart. Even something as simple as walking had become an effort—like moving fully-clothed through water. Sleep. All of a sudden he could think about nothing but sleep—not just to refresh his tired body and mind, but to escape from conscious thought, from the seeping sadness that was threatening to engulf his very soul. He’d say his goodbyes to the Weasleys and go home to hibernate until he could cope once more.  
  
When he reached the fifth floor tearoom, before he could wind his way through the tables to where the Weasleys were gathered, his path was blocked by a blur of elaborate blonde curls, bejeweled spectacles, and gaudy turquoise robes. He groaned as he stopped short to keep from knocking the woman flat.  
  
“Harry! What a surprise to find you here!”

Her familiar wheedling voice grated on Harry’s nerves. He didn't even try to keep it from showing in his tone. “Hello, Rita.”  
  
“Harry, Harry, Harry. What kind of greeting is that for an old friend? Come, now, surely you can find a moment to sit and chat?”  
  
“I really don’t have time now.” He studied her for a moment, careful to keep an impassive expression. Oh, how he despised Rita Skeeter and the  _Daily Prophet._  Her high-jinks during the Triwizard Tournament had been his harrowing initiation into the cutthroat world of yellow journalism. During his fifth year, Hermione had forced Rita’s assistance in telling the true story of Voldemort’s return, but that had not redeemed her in Harry’s eyes. And her self-serving exposé on the Dumbledores last year had sealed his opinion of her forever.    
  
“In fact, now that I think on it a minute,” he continued, “I don’t think I’ll ever have time.” He moved to walk past her.  
  
She quickly stepped over to block his way. “Now, Harry. You know I’m going to do the story. If I can’t talk to you, perhaps the young woman you rescued will give me an exclusive… or her family,” she turned to cast a speculative glance at the Weasleys, who were all furtively watching the exchange. Hermione looked fit to do murder. “Oh, and tell Miss Prissy that her blackmail won’t work anymore. I’ve registered.”  
  
“You stay away from them,” Harry said quietly, but with enough threat in his tone that Rita took a small step back. “They’ve had enough to deal with this summer without the likes of you making their lives miserable. And if you go near Ginny, I’ll personally see to it that you never do another story on anyone.”  
  
Rita’s smile grew wicked and a predatory glint flared in her eyes. “Oooh… looks like I touched a nerve. Could there be more of a story here than even I realized?”  
  
Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He was so tired. Couldn’t the world go away and leave him alone for just one day? The last thing he wanted to do right now—or ever, for that matter—was deal with Rita Skeeter. But there was no way he was going to let that vulture get near any of the Weasleys, especially not Ginny. He sighed heavily.  
  
“I’ll give you your bloody story, Rita. Wait here. I’ll be back.” He started across the room, then abruptly stopped and turned—Rita crashed into him. “I said wait. If you move one inch, I’m out of here.”  
  
She crossed her arms and gave a huff, but stayed put when Harry walked to the table where the Weasleys were seated.  
  
“What does she want?” Hermione asked, glaring at the reporter.  
  
“What does she always want?” he said wearily. “I’m going to give her an interview so she’ll leave everyone else alone. Then, I’m going home to sleep.”  
  
“Harry, dear, you don’t have to do that,” Molly said. “We can talk to her.”  
  
“No!” Harry looked at her in alarm. “No, please don’t let her come anywhere near you and if she does, let me know. I’ll ask the Ministry to put a guard on Ginny’s room and one at the house. Believe me, you don’t want to talk to that woman.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“No, really, it’s better this way.”  
  
“I can handle her, Harry,” Hermione said, starting to rise.  
  
“No, Hermione. She’s registered now. It won’t work anymore.”  
  
Hermione sat back with a scowl. “Well, I’m going to find something else we can use. A woman with her past…”  
  
Harry sighed. “Just let it go. I’ll do the interview. That should pacify her for a bit.”  
  
“You know, you don’t always have to do the hard stuff by yourself, mate,” Ron said. “Me and Hermione will come with you. You’re dead on your feet right now. No telling what she’ll get you to say.”  
  
“Thanks, Ron, but—”  
  
“That’s brilliant, Ron,” Hermione said as she stood and pulled Ron to his feet. “Besides, we can fill in Ginny’s side of the story. Maybe that’ll keep Rita away from her.”  
  
Harry didn’t have a chance to argue as Hermione began herding him back across the room.  
  
***  
  
When Harry finally collapsed into bed nearly two hours later, he felt he’d done all he could to keep Ginny and her family safe and out of Rita’s clutches. He, Ron, and Hermione had spent a scant hour with Rita, carefully trying to out-manipulate her. He knew she’d embellish and twist their answers, but hopefully he’d deflected her spot-on intuition about his feelings for Ginny. To try to keep Ginny from feeling the jab of her evil quill, he’d even hinted that Rita's original speculations about Daphne were more on target. (“Rita, last week you paired me with Daphne Darling… are you now implying I’ve already dumped her? You’re making me look like a real cad.”) He’d seen the concerned look pass between Ron and Hermione, but protecting Ginny was more important than their worries about Daphne—she would likely enjoy the attention, anyway.  
  
After the interview, a quick visit to the Ministry had ensured the proper security to keep the press away. The last thing the Weasleys needed right now was harassment from the media.   
  
The afternoon’s effort had depleted his reserves and he didn’t have the energy to undress or pull down the covers before falling face first onto his bed. Once there, however, sleep eluded him. His mind refused to turn off, though his body couldn’t have responded to a command if the house had been on fire. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the image of Dean and Ginny in each other’s arms and his brain would kick into gear, replaying an endless loop of his midnight conversation with her when he’d returned from training camp: “I hope we can be friends… Dean has been wonderful… I hope we can be friends… Dean has been wonderful…”  
  
He wasn’t sure he could be “just friends” now—not after having been more. How could he stand near her and not touch her? How could he talk to her and not tell her how he felt? She was leaving for school in a couple of weeks, and he wouldn’t have to worry about talking to her, about being near her without touching her. It should be a relief.   
  
He thought he’d die from the pain of missing her already.   
  
He lay there on top of the covers for hours, not moving, not really thinking, just letting his mind roam at will through his memories of her, until he finally drifted into dreamless oblivion.


	9. Picking Up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny begins to put her life back together and Harry makes a decision.

Ginny awoke Friday morning feeling less groggy. Her wounds had healed and the thick fog had lifted from her mind, but she wasn’t ready to go home. The thought of leaving this room, of going back out into the world, sent shivers up her spine.  
  
“Good morning, dear.”   
  
Molly’s sing-song voice grated on Ginny’s nerves, but she pasted on a smile as her parents walked in the door.   
  
“How are you feeling today?” Molly gave Ginny a hug.  
  
“Better, I guess.” They didn’t seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm.  
  
“Ready to go home?” her father asked. He bounced on the balls of his feet and gave her a cheery smile, the picture of happy energy.  
  
 _No!_ her mind screamed. She wanted to crawl back under the blankets.   
  
“Yes,” she answered out loud with as much confidence as she could manage. Gathering herself gingerly, she moved slowly from the bed to the screened dressing area. She wasn’t really sore, just incredibly tired, which was amazing given that she’d done nothing but lie in bed for several days. The Mind Healers had told her it was the way her body was coping with the ordeal she’d suffered.   
  
From behind the screen, she heard the door open. The Healer came in to give her parents instructions and potions, then cautioned them not to push her too hard or worry too much if she didn’t readily fall back into her regular routine. After the way Molly had nearly driven George to the brink following Fred’s death, Ginny was grateful for the intervention. Even so, she took her time dressing, not wanting to finish before the Healer left. In spite of his words to her parents about pushing, he had been encouraging her to return next week for counseling. She had flatly refused. She was tired of being poked and prodded, physically and mentally. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. And she didn’t want to be told how she should feel or how to deal with it. She just wanted to be left alone to get on with her life.  
  
When the door closed behind the Healer, she leaned against the wall for a moment, collecting her strength to make an effort to appear normal for her parents. They had been through so much lately—she couldn’t let herself add to their grief.  
  
“We’ve got a Ministry car waiting downstairs,” Arthur said as she came around the dressing screen. “The Healers thought you should wait another day to use magic, so we can’t Apparate or Floo.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Ginny said. His words had been tentative, as if he expected her to be angry or disappointed, but she was relieved that she wouldn’t have to summon the energy to travel magically. She’d been of age for three days now and only used magic a couple of times. She didn’t care.   
  
The trip downstairs was more difficult than she’d expected. She had to stop several times to catch her breath and wait for bouts of dizziness pass—lying in bed for days had taken a toll on her endurance and equilibrium. But there was more. When they stepped into the hall, out of the safe boundaries of her hospital room, her stomach had clenched with a fear she couldn’t explain. She was almost glad for the physical weakness that gave her an excuse to take shelter under the arm her father put around her shoulders to support her. She knew Greyback was in custody and that the halls of St. Mungo’s were safe, but the irrational feeling of dread wouldn’t go away. When they reached the ground floor corridor, she breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned to a gasp of surprise when she saw Ron and Hermione hurrying toward them.   
  
“It’s mad in there,” Ron said, cocking his head back toward the reception area. “Just stick close to us, Ginny. We’ll get you out of here.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Ginny asked, growing alarmed.  
  
Hermione put an arm around her and Ron walked a couple of steps ahead. Molly and Arthur closed ranks behind.   
  
“Just keep your head down and keep moving. Don’t listen to anything they say,” Hermione said quietly.  
  
As they neared the front of the building, Ginny could see the crush of people in the waiting area and the security detail working valiantly to keep them in order. When she stepped into the room, chaos erupted—people shouting and pushing, cameras flashing.   
  
Hermione hugged her tighter and guided her forward. “Keep your head down.”  
  
“Miss Weasley, is it true you’re carrying Greyback’s child?”  
  
“Are you going to keep the baby or get rid of it?”  
  
“Ginny, how is Harry Potter taking it?”  
  
“Is it true he’s been sacked from the Auror division?”  
  
Ginny flushed purple and cowered closer to Hermione, who was doing her best to shield her from the photographers. The security agents pushed the crowd back to give the Weasleys room to pass. Several reporters who tried to jump into their way backed off when they met the business end of Ron’s wand.   
  
They finally fought their way through the door and into the waiting car. Molly gathered Ginny close. “It’s okay, dear. We’re safe now.”  
  
Ginny sat quietly in her mother’s arms, trembling with aftershocks. The sound of rushing air filled her head and her stomach lurched violently as the words of the reporters finally became clear in her mind—the media thought she was pregnant. Since entering St. Mungo’s, she had been so focused on just getting through the day she hadn’t considered what was going on in the rest of the world, hadn’t thought that anyone would know or care about what she’d been through. The press thought she was carrying Greyback’s child, and soon the rest of the Wizarding world would believe it, too. As she gasped for air, trying to settle her churning insides before they erupted, another realization hit.   
  
“That’s—that’s what you and Harry have had to go through since the war—” Ginny said in a hoarse whisper as she looked from Ron to Hermione and back again. “How do you stand it?”  
  
They looked at each other, then back at her.  
  
“You just grit your teeth and get through it,” Ron said grimly. “And don’t read the paper.”  
  
“You never get used to it,” Hermione added. “You just learn to deal with it.”  
  
“’Course Hermione and I don’t have to put up with it as much as Harry. And they’re usually not so hostile to us,” Ron said, then swore bitterly. “I can’t believe they would attack you like that after what you’ve been through. I’m going to get Rita for leaking that.”  
  
“Rita?” Ginny asked with a puzzled look. “What’s she got to do with this?”  
  
Hermione sighed. “She cornered Harry for an interview yesterday. He thought if he gave it to her, she’d leave us alone. But, I don't think Rita would've leaked it, Ron. She'd want to keep it to herself so she’d have an exclusive. This had to come from somewhere else.”  
  
Arthur joined the conversation with a weary voice. “Any number of people who work for the Ministry could have leaked Greyback’s intentions. I don’t think we’ll ever know where it came from.” He patted Ginny’s hand comfortingly. “Time will prove all the speculation wrong, dear. The truth will prevail.”  
  
They were all quiet for the rest of the drive to the Burrow. Ginny leaned against her mother’s shoulder and watched the passing countryside, pondering the rite of passage she’d made today.   
  
She was exhausted again.  
  
***  
  
The minute she stepped into the Burrow, Ginny retreated to her room, refusing her mother’s coddling as gently as she could. She finally feigned sleep to get everyone to leave her alone with her thoughts.  
  
Leaving St. Mungo’s had been enlightening. She had never fully understood what Harry had gone through during his fifth year at Hogwarts—the attacks from the press, the whispers from the students, the hate mail, the glare of the spotlight he so desperately despised. She had watched it all from the sidelines, but had never really grasped what it all meant, the impact it had on him and those close to him.  
  
This was Harry’s life. If he wasn’t battling Dark Wizards, he was fighting off reporters. And it would never end. From that single moment when he was a year old, he was destined to be a target and anyone near him was sure to get caught in the crossfire.  
  
Ron and Hermione had come to understand this, and they had wholeheartedly embraced the conditions for being his best friends. Ginny was just beginning to realize the sacrifices they had made. Could she do the same? She’d like to think so, but she wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered now, anyway. He just wanted to be friends. Daphne seemed to be able to handle the media attention just fine. Maybe it was better this way, after all.  
  
Ginny eventually drifted off and slept most of the afternoon, more for the escape it provided than because she needed the rest. But vague dreams made her restless and she eventually found herself staring at the ceiling, her mind empty, her body listless. She thought if she never moved again, it would be too soon.  
  
At the soft knock on the door, she drew a deep breath. She wasn’t ready for company, but in her family she knew it was too much to ask to be left alone for long. She exhaled slowly. “Come in.”  
  
George stuck his head in the door and she let out a little sigh of relief. He, of all people, would understand. He would know that she couldn’t handle the world right now and wouldn’t ask more of her than she could give.  
  
“All right?” he asked.  
  
He looked so concerned that her heart went out to him and she pushed herself up to a half sitting position. He scrambled to help adjust her pillows behind her.  
  
“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”   
  
“Mum’s nearly got supper ready. Do you want me to bring you a tray?”  
  
“I’m not really hungry.”  
  
“I didn’t think so. But she wanted me to check.”  
  
Ginny worked at giving him a smile that didn’t quite work. “Food’s her answer to all the problems of the world, isn’t it?”  
  
He nodded solemnly. “If she’d only been able to feed shepherd’s pie and treacle tart to Voldemort when he was a boy, the world would’ve been a different place.”  
  
She couldn’t hold back her grin and was rewarded with a relieved smile from George. He always knew the right things to say. She scrubbed her hands over her face.  
  
“I probably do need to get up. It’ll make Mum feel better.”  
  
“Mum’ll be fine. You take care of yourself first. I’ll tell her you’ll see her in the morning.” With a pat on her hand he slipped out of the room.  
  
Ginny slid back down into her cocoon of blankets and let the battle inside her brain take over. She should get up—but moving seemed like too much trouble and she felt so safe here. She didn’t want to be alone—but she couldn’t bear the thought of talking to anyone, fielding questions she couldn’t bring herself to answer. She just didn’t want to deal with the world—but she couldn’t hide forever.  
  
With a great effort, she forced herself out of bed. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror was enough to make her want to crawl back under the covers. A quick brush through her hair was all she could manage to lessen the damage. After three days’ worth of cleaning charms, she needed a proper bath. It would have to wait until she could work herself up to it in the morning… maybe.   
  
She made her way slowly down the stairs. Hermione was helping Molly with the meal preparations, George was setting the table, and Ron was reading the  _Evening Prophet_  out loud. Ginny stopped, unnoticed, on the bottom step to listen.  


 

>   
>  _…Ministry officials report that the werewolf Greyback has been transported to Azkaban Prison where he is being held under maximum-security conditions to await trial on 15 September._
> 
> _Meanwhile, kidnap victim Ginevra Weasley was released from St. Mungo’s today, appearing to have recovered from her ordeal. Reports indicate that Miss Weasley was abducted by Greyback as a means to sire an heir. There has been no official word on whether or not she is carrying his child. Harry Potter, vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, risked his Auror trainee appointment to rescue her._
> 
> _Read the Sunday Prophet for Rita Skeeter’s exclusive interview with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, brother of Greyback’s victim, to get the full story._

  
“Hey, I was there, too!” Hermione said over her shoulder from the sink.  
  
“Yeah, but you know Rita,” Ron said. “She doesn’t like you and she only reports—”  
  
He stopped short as he noticed Ginny. She drew a deep breath and stepped into the room.   
  
“Hi,” she said in a carefully controlled tone. She pushed her way through the heavy curtain of tension and sat at the table across from Ron. “Can I see that?”  
  
He pushed the paper over to her.  
  
“Ginny, dear, how are you feeling? Can I get you some tea?”  
  
“No thanks, Mum. I’m fine.” She maintained her casual demeanor as she studied the photograph on the front page of the paper. The sight of her own image ducking behind Hermione to avoid the photographers brought a sharp tang to the back of her throat, but she swallowed hard and forced her face to remain expressionless. “Well, I guess it could’ve been worse.”  
  
She noticed the quick look of concern pass between Molly and Hermione. Keeping her head bowed, Ginny pretended to read the article, though the words blurred. She didn’t even try to make sense of them.   
  
“Ginny, dear.” Ginny looked up and watched Molly restlessly drying her hands on a towel, her face drawn with worry. “We canceled your party. We didn’t think—”  
  
“My party?” Ginny furrowed her brow and had to think for a moment. They were watching her cautiously. She was having a hard time focusing. What party? “Oh! My party. Yes. That’s fine. Yes. It’s canceled. Yes… Yes… That’s good…” Her voice trailed off and she turned distractedly back to the newspaper.  
  
Ginny felt detached from the scene, as if she was watching it all from another vantage point. After a series of worried glances, everyone went back to trying to act normally, chatting about the weather and other mundane topics. She didn’t try to follow the conversation until the one topic came up that could catch her interest.  
  
“Ron, is Harry coming for supper?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Nah. I stopped by his place on the way home. Kreacher told me he went to bed yesterday afternoon and left orders that he wasn’t to be disturbed by anyone, even if the house was on fire. I was gonna go up and roust him out anyway, but you know Kreacher. Now that he’s decided he likes Harry, he follows orders to a T. He threatened me with a frying pan like he used on Mundungus last year.”  
  
Hermione smiled. “That’s amazing. He certainly has become loyal to Harry. I’m still mad that Harry hasn’t freed him.”  
  
“Hermione, Kreacher doesn’t want to be freed…”  
  
Ginny tuned out the argument and went back to studying the paper until she could politely excuse herself to go back to bed.  
  
***  
  
Harry pried his eyelids open. With the curtains drawn over the windows, he couldn’t tell what time it was. He felt sure he’d been there more than a day, but he didn’t really care. He wasn’t ready to face the world.  
  
He had slept off and on, sometimes for hours and sometimes for only minutes at the time. Mostly his sleep had been dreamless. The waking hours were harder. His mind seemed to have a mind of its own and refused to allow him to banish thoughts of Ginny.  
  
Harry rolled onto his back and stared blankly overhead. The dark canopy above him transfigured as his memories took over…   
  
 _It was a glorious early June day. Bits of brilliant blue sky peeked through the leafy veil overhead and shafts of sunlight dappled the spot where he lay, stretched out on the ground by the lake with his head in Ginny’s lap.  
  
She sat with her back against the beech tree, running her fingers idly through his hair. Her nails gently massaged his scalp, thoroughly relaxing while slightly arousing him. He pulled his knees up to hide the effects of the latter and squinted at her through his lashes. Her eyes were closed, too, but the smirk that quickly appeared told him she knew why he’d moved—she didn’t miss anything.  
  
They had only an hour at lunch before they had to get back to finish exams. But as far as Harry was concerned, he was in heaven, and he wished he could stay right here with her forever.  
  
But he couldn’t. He had to keep her safe, and he knew just how to do it.   
  
_ That night Dumbledore was murdered and, two days later, Harry broke up with Ginny at the funeral. _  
_  
Harry rolled onto his stomach to cushion the ache in his chest. He still wanted to keep her safe. He didn’t want Greyback or anyone like him to put her in danger. He didn’t want Rita Skeeter and her kind to subject her to public scrutiny. He wanted her to be happy… to live a normal life. And he knew the best way to make sure she could do that—just stay away from her.  
  
Dumbledore had always told him to do what was right, not what was easy. Staying away from Ginny was definitely the right thing to do. He’d done it before. But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.  
  
***  
  
Ginny should have been putting on her prettiest robes, getting ready to dance the night away in celebration of one of the great milestones of her life. Instead, she was content to sit on the garden bench, letting the evening breeze dance in her hair to the night bird’s song. It was all the party she could handle.  
  
The day had dragged. Since it was Saturday, both of her parents had been home—hovering. She’d stayed in bed until almost noon, but the fifth time Molly had come in to check on her, she’d decided to get up so she could better avoid a direct attack. She soon found that no place in the house was safe from them. No matter what room she went into, one of her parents discovered some pressing task that needed to be done there. She even dawdled in the loo to take advantage of the privacy, but when she came out, her mother was always there on the landing with a load of folded laundry or a load of dirty laundry or some other load that needed to be taken up or down stairs at that precise moment. Ginny had finally escaped into the garden where she could more easily ignore their fussing about if they followed her.   
  
But escaping the house didn’t offer freedom. The chilling sense of dread that had been churning through her insides for days emerged to trap her like Devil’s Snare, squeezing her chest and blocking her breath in her throat. When she’d first stepped out the kitchen door in the early afternoon, her stomach had clenched violently and she had stood on the step for what seemed like ages before making her way slowly out to her favorite bench under the tree by the back wall. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, she’d drawn her wand and held onto it with a white-knuckled grip, jumping at every small sound for nearly an hour. Even now as the afternoon was drawing to a close, her fingers convulsed repeatedly around the slim willow stem, though her mind had long since gone elsewhere.  
  
Or, rather, nowhere. No matter where she sat—inside or out—she couldn’t focus her thoughts. They just seemed to tumble haphazardly through her head, generating physical reactions to unnamed fears and a pervading feeling of helplessness. Her stomach was home to a swarm of Cornish Pixies, her neck and shoulders were tempered into steel from tension, and her brain swirled with a mist that chilled her to the bone.   
  
In her more lucid moments, she wondered what had happened to the self-assured, sassy girl she used to see when she looked in the mirror. She didn’t recognize this lifeless shell left in her place. During these moments, a flare of anger would cut through the frigid fog and she would touch the person she used to be. But then the memories and the terror would engulf her, and she would retreat back into the icy numbness that was quickly becoming her refuge from the world.  
  
She wasn’t sure how long she had sat on the bench in the garden. Time was meaningless. Only the deepening shadows and the sound of supper preparations through the open window signaled a need to move. At least she could go back to bed now.   
  
As she uncurled her stiff legs, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Springing to her feet, she wielded her wand.  
  
“Hello, Ginny.”  
  
Hand to her heart, Ginny released a heavy breath and lowered her wand. “Luna. You scared me.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Luna gave her a placid smile. “Have I missed the party?”  
  
Ginny’s eyes grew wide. “No—well, I mean—we canceled it. Didn’t you get the letter Mum sent?”  
  
“I must have missed it. Dad and I have only just returned from Sweden. We were quite close to finding a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but I told him I needed to get back for your party.” Her lilting voice carried a matter-of-fact tone.  
  
Ginny didn’t have the heart to ask about the Snorkack hunt, but she wanted even less to explain why the party had been canceled. She looked away from the dreamy question on Luna’s face. “I’m sorry you had to come back for nothing.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t think it was for nothing. Even if you’re not having a party, I think you need your friends around you right now.”  
  
Ginny looked back in surprise. “You heard? In Sweden?”  
  
“Oh, yes. We keep up with the news even when we’re away. Dad might need to follow up on something for the  _Quibbler_.”  
  
“Ah.” Ginny had suddenly run out of small talk. She certainly didn’t want to discuss the events of the previous week with the daughter of a magazine editor. But Luna was serenely watching her, giving no sign that she was thinking of leaving. Ginny couldn’t bring herself to ask her to go. “Um… would you like to sit down?”  
  
With a misty smile, Luna nodded and they sat next to each other. The silence grew awkward for Ginny. Luna seemed not to notice.  
  
“It gets easier in time, you know,” Luna finally said, her soft voice taking on a musical quality.  
  
Ginny dragged herself from her empty thoughts. “What gets easier?”  
  
“Taking your life back.”  
  
The remark took Ginny completely off guard. She stared determinedly into the bushes before her, anger unexpectedly welling up. How could Luna possibly presume to know wh—   
  
Ginny’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she realized Luna did know.  
  
The memory of Luna’s months in captivity at Malfoy Manor made a crack in Ginny’s protective shell. As if a window had been opened in a stuffy room, she suddenly felt she could breathe a bit more freely, could open herself to the possibility of hope. She turned to look fully at Luna.  
  
“How—how did you get—get past it?”   
  
The silvery eyes became unusually focused, her voice took on a rare strength. “I just decided I wasn’t going to let them steal any more of my life.”  
  
They stared at each other for several moments. Ginny let the words sink in slowly, pondering the simplicity of Luna’s explanation.   
  
“That’s it? You just decided and it all went away?”  
  
“Oh, no. I had to work hard at it every day. I still have to. But if I don’t, I might as well still be in that cellar. I choose not to let them keep me there.”  
  
Ginny’s heart began beating frantically and her lungs suddenly refused to work as the vision of the shack rose in her mind. She gulped desperately for air, tremors taking over her body. At the touch of Luna’s cool hand on her arm, she came back to the garden. Ginny blinked against the prick of tears and swallowed the knot that formed in her throat. After several shaky breaths, she swiped at her eyes and looked off into the distance.  
  
“What do you—” Her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. She had to clear her throat before she could continue. “What do you do when the—memories—the memories take over?”  
  
“I run to my safe place.”  
  
Ginny turned to look at her. “Your safe place?”  
  
“Well, it’s not really a place. It’s actually a person. I run to my Mum.”  
  
At a loss for words, Ginny just blinked. Luna’s mother had been dead for many years. “But—”  
  
“Oh, I know,” Luna interrupted serenely, placing her hand over her heart. “But she’s always with me. I can feel her. Sometimes I can even feel her hands on my back, holding me up. So when I get really scared, I run to her in my mind. She makes me feel safe until the memories go away. I don’t get scared as often as I used to, but sometimes I go just to be with her even when I’m not scared.” She patted Ginny’s arm. “You should find someone to go to when you feel scared.”  
  
Someone who would make her feel safe. The only person Ginny could think of who could do that didn’t want her. She swallowed hard again.  
  
“Ginny?” Molly’s voice wafted across the garden from the kitchen door. “Time for supper. Invite Luna to join us.”  
  
Ginny looked at Luna and opened her mouth, but Luna stood and spoke first. “I really must go. Oh! I almost forgot—here’s your present.”  
  
Ginny took the small bundle wrapped in a mesh of woven daisies. Inside she found a necklace of the same radishes Luna had worn as earrings at Hogwarts.   
  
“Oh, um, thanks.” Ginny was glad for the rapidly falling darkness so she didn’t have to work too hard to hide her bewilderment.  
  
“They’re Dirigible Plums. We grow them. They enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary,” Luna said with a knowing nod.  
  
Ginny draped the wreath around her neck and gave Luna a sad smile. “I have a good many extraordinary things to accept right now. It’s perfect.”  
  
“Take care, Ginny.”   
  
Ginny watched wistfully as she left, wishing with all her heart that the things Luna had said were true.  
  
***  
  
Sunday belied its name. Thick, roiling clouds blocked any hint of the sun, casting a depressing pall on the world. It suited Ginny just fine.   
  
George came for breakfast. With a wink at Ginny when Molly wasn’t looking, he said he’d awakened with a mad craving for his mum’s fried eggs and bacon sandwiches. Then, he spent most of the day running interference so Ginny could sit undisturbed, watching the undulating sky through her bedroom window.   
  
At first, she huddled comfortably into her cloak of numbness and stared blankly at the grey world outside, her mind vacant and detached. But, soon, Luna’s words began to echo in her head.   
  
 _…not going to let them steal any more of my life…not going to let them keep me there…_  
  
Could it really be that simple?   
  
Ginny was tired of being scared… tired of hiding… tired of being tired. She wanted her life back. She wanted herself back. A small spark of anger ignited in her soul. But how? How could she fight the terror that consumed her whenever she tried to shake the fog filling her brain?   
  
 _…run to my safe place…makes me feel safe until the memories go away…_  
  
A safe place. Where could she run? Who could she run to?   
  
She could go to her parents. But she’d learned quite young that they couldn’t protect her from everything. With six brothers, she’d been the target of teasing and practical jokes all her life. Running to Mum or Dad usually made matters worse in the end when the boys took the mickey out of her for being a baby. So she’d learned to stand up to them herself. At the same time, she knew that any and all of her brothers would come to her defense in a heartbeat if she needed them. But she had always prided herself on being strong, able to take care of herself. The spark of anger glowed brighter. She shouldn’t  _need_  a safe place to cower from her inner demons.  
  
But she did. And in her heart, she knew only one place where she had ever felt utterly and completely safe—with Harry.  
  
He was such a clueless git. But he had the biggest heart of anyone she knew and, even if he would never love her as she wanted, she knew he cared enough to risk his life for her. He’d done it more than once.  
  
Her thoughts took her back to that wondrous spring, before war and separation had intruded on their lives. Closing her eyes, she wandered into those secluded corners of Hogwarts—she could feel his arms around her, his warm breath on her cheek, his firm lips over hers. She sighed and laid her forehead on the cool windowpane. For the first time in a week, the pixies in her stomach rested and the steel of her shoulders softened.   
  
She’d found her haven, her safe place. Hope grew out of the anger. Maybe now she could begin to take her life back.  
  
***  
  
“I want to go back to work at the shop tomorrow.”  
  
Ginny’s pronouncement at dinner on Tuesday evening met a stunned silence.  
  
“Ginny, you don’t have to do that,” Molly said. “You’ve got only two weeks before you leave for school. Why don’t you just stay home and rest?”  
  
“I do have to, Mum. I’m not going to let him steal any more of my life.”  
  
She looked steadily at her mother, willing her body not to give away her anxiety. Since she’d made the decision to follow Luna’s lead and take back her life, she’d been working on strengthening her resolve, controlling her emotions. It had taken most of Sunday to get to the point where she could stay focused on a family conversation. By Monday evening, she felt like she could almost pass for functioning normally when other people were around. The churning in her stomach had lessened only a bit and the vivid memories seemed to constantly cloud the edges of her mind. But when the terror threatened to take her, she would run in her mind to Harry until the feeling passed and she could push forward once more.  
  
She watched her family try to hide their concern. Only George seemed to be taking her seriously. He was looking at her with pride, and she drew strength from him.  
  
Molly reached across the table to pat her hand. “You shouldn’t rush yourself, dear. You’ve been through so much—”  
  
Without warning, Ginny’s anger flared. She stood and pounded her fist on the table. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! I  _need_  to do this, Mum. I need to know that I  _can_  do it. And I need to know  _before_  I leave for school. I’m not a baby anymore. I can make decisions for myself.”  
  
Molly and Arthur exchanged worried looks, then Molly nodded sadly. “Yes, you’re right. You’re of age now. I—I just want what’s best for you.”  
  
The rush of rage died as quickly as it had been born. Ginny blinked back tears and tried to push down the knot in her throat. Sinking back into her chair, she drew a deep breath. “I know. But I can’t wait until September first. I need to see if I can start living again now—or I might never be able to at all.”  
  
“Maybe you’ll want to start slow,” George said quietly. “Come in half days for a bit until you get your strength back.”  
  
Ginny gave him a little smile and nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’d like that.” She waited a moment, then looked back at her mother. “There’s something else…”  
  
Molly sent Arthur another worried look. “What is it, dear?”  
  
“I want to have my party before I go back to school.” Ginny hurried on before Molly could voice the apprehension on her face. “I’ve thought about it. It’s not going to be easy going back to school, to be around a lot of people all the time. I thought maybe I could make a trial run with the party.”  
  
“I think Ginny’s right,” Hermione said. “She’s going to have to face people sometime and it’ll be a lot easier to start with a group of friends.”  
  
Ginny watched the emotions playing across her mother’s face. Molly was as protective of her children as a nesting dragon, but Ginny could see that she was softening. After a moment, the decision was made.  
  
“Shall we do it this Saturday?”  
  
Ginny’s smile was almost real.  
  
***  
  
A Cheshire-cat moon grinned down from a deepening indigo sky as the party got underway in the orchard behind the Burrow. Foregoing a tent for the glorious canopy of stars, Molly had chosen to have various members of the Order secure the area from unwanted visitors and prying eyes with a series of powerful enchantments. Guests had to present their invitations to armed guards at the garden gate.   
  
Snitch-size globes of colored light bobbed above a parquet dance floor surrounded by cloth-covered tables and oversized urns of enchanted flowers that changed colors and swayed in time to the music. The buffet table groaned beneath its constantly replenished platters. Lee Jordan had agreed to serve as master of ceremonies for the evening, playing recordings of Ginny’s favorite wizarding musical groups on a magically amplified gramophone once owned by Remus Lupin.   
  
Ginny was surprised to find she was actually having a good time. She had expected to have to work harder at pretending to be calm and in control, to have to grit her teeth and ignore questioning looks and nuanced comments. But to her amazement, everyone was treating her as if the horrible ordeal had never happened. Soon, she was able to push the memories further to the corner of her mind and feel her clenching insides relax a bit. She began to genuinely enjoy herself—when she wasn’t watching for Harry.  
  
It took her about an hour to realize he was sitting at a table in the shadows, talking quietly with Ron and others who wandered over to visit. He never sought attention, and tonight he seemed to be going out of his way to stay out of the spotlight, but it had found him anyway. She smiled at the thought. She was just glad he had come.  
  
***  
  
Harry slipped past the guards under his Invisibility Cloak and made his way carefully through the border of trees to a table in the shadows. He wanted to be here, to support Ginny and celebrate her coming-of-age, but he didn’t want to steal the spotlight from her. This was her night. He was content to keep his distance.  
  
He watched her across the dance floor, talking with Neville and Luna. Dean stood protectively at her shoulder. She looked thin and pale and her smile wasn’t as ready and bright as usual. He couldn’t see her eyes from this distance, but he would bet they didn’t hold the glint of mischief he loved. But she was as beautiful as ever.   
  
He sighed and pulled his eyes away.  
  
“Hey, mate, when did you get here?” Ron flopped down in the chair next to him and handed him a butterbeer.  
  
“Just now. Didn’t want to create a scene.” He held up his cloak.  
  
“Ah.” Ron nodded then cocked his head toward Ginny. “He got here early and hasn’t left her side all evening. Told Mum he feels guilty for not protecting her better.” With a snort, he pulled a face. “I think he’s trying to make up for it now.”  
  
“Probably not a bad thing,” Harry said with a shrug. He averted his eyes as Ginny laughed up at Dean, suddenly feeling the cloak of exhaustion settle back onto his shoulders. Getting out of bed to come tonight had been a struggle. He was ready to go back. He took swig of his drink and reminded himself why he was here. It was going to be a long evening.  
  
He fixed on a pleasant expression. “So where’s Hermione?”  
  
“Dunno. Somewhere helping with food, I think. Hey, look, there’s Hagrid.”  
  
Ron waved the Hogwarts gamekeeper over and Harry spent the next couple of hours talking with him and a series of others who wandered over when they realized he was there—Professor McGonagall, various Weasleys, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Seamus. Even Dean came over for a friendly chat and Harry managed to get through it without causing a scene. But it left him feeling irritated and miserable. He went in search of another butterbeer… or maybe something stronger.  
  
***  
  
Ginny was taking a break, watching the crowd from the shadow of a flower urn when she tuned in to the conversation from the other side.  
  
“…dancing with every boy here. Can you believe it?”  
  
“Yeah, I see she’s got Dean wrapped around her little finger again.”  
  
“But, it’s not just him. Seamus and Michael and even Neville are hanging all over her, too. Does she have to take all of the good ones? Don’t they realize she’s damaged goods?”  
  
Damaged goods? Ginny’s stomach lurched and her joy in the evening vanished. She knew Lavender and Pavarti were the Gryffindor gossip queens, but she’d thought they were her friends—especially after what they’d all been through together last year.  
  
“Yeah, I can’t imagine what any boy would see in her after she’s been with that werewolf. I mean… oh! Um, Harry… uh, hi—I—uh, we—uh...”  
  
Ginny peeked through the flowers and gasped. Harry’s eyes were blazing. Intimidating was a mild description of Harry in full-on hero mode. He was well beyond that point now.   
  
“Is that why you came tonight?” Harry asked, his voice quiet but cold as steel. “To gawk and gossip?”  
  
“Oh, uh—no, uh—we—”   
  
“I think you’d better leave. Now.”  
  
Ginny heard the mad scramble to gather belongings and a chair tip over as its occupant stood too quickly.  
  
“I’ll make your excuses to Mrs. Weasley.” The ice in his voice froze even her blood. She could only imagine what the other girls were feeling now. “And I’d better not hear that you’ve continued this conversation with each other or anyone else—ever.”  
  
Ginny heard the girls scurry off toward the garden gate and Harry breathing raggedly as he struggled to control his anger. She took a couple of deep breaths herself to calm her raging emotions, then stepped quietly around the urn.   
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Harry whirled and gave her an agonized look. “Ginny—you heard. I’m so sorry…”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. I know people are going to talk. Or if they aren’t talking, they’re thinking it. I just wish my friends—or people I thought were my friends—knew better.”  
  
“They’re lucky I didn’t turn them into field mice and set Crookshanks on them.”  
  
Ginny turned up one corner of her mouth. “They’re not worth it.”  
  
They smiled at each other for a moment, more relaxed in each other’s company than they’d been in more than a year.  
  
“Happy late birthday,” Harry finally said.  
  
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it.”  
  
Harry held out a chair for her and sat down beside her at the table, vanishing the plates and drinks left behind by its previous occupants. He summoned two Butterbeers from the drink table nearby and they talked for a while about the other people they’d had a chance to catch up with during the evening. The conversation flowed easily, as it had in a distant castle a year earlier... before. For the moment, her world was back on its axis and all was well. Her heart skipped a beat as she dared to allow hope to draw a feeble breath.  
  
“So, what kind of trouble did you get into for rescuing me?” she asked with a teasing grin.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Not too bad, really. I get to do paperwork. Loads and loads of paperwork. We do classes and training in the morning, then in the afternoon when the other trainees are assigned to shadow an experienced Auror doing field work, I get to stay in and process reports.”  
  
“Sounds like detention to me,” Ginny said with a smirk. “You should be really good at that.”  
  
Harry nodded and laughed—a genuine, joyful laugh from deep in his soul, a laugh like she hadn’t heard from him since before Dumbledore’s funeral. Her heart soared.  
  
“Okay, everyone, this is it,” Lee’s magically amplified voice boomed across the dance floor. “Last dance. We’ll end the evening with the birthday girl’s favorite, Magic Works by the Weird Sisters.”  
  
As the music started, Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me to dance?”  
  
Harry threw up his hands. “Ginny, you know I’m rubbish at dancing.”  
  
She stood and held out her hand. “This is a slow one. I won’t mind if you step on my toes.”  
  
He hesitated a moment before taking her hand and leading her to the edge of the floor.  
  
***  
  
Harry knew he shouldn’t do this—it was the easy thing, not the right thing. But he was powerless to stop. She was there in front of him, asking him to put his arms around her. As much as he knew he shouldn’t do it, he couldn’t say no.  
  
They took the traditional stance—his hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder, their other hands clasped at shoulder height. Harry closed his eyes at the words the singer spoke as the music started:

 

> _This one’s going out to all the lovers out there  
>  Hold each other tight and keep each other warm  
> _

He wasn’t sure he was going to get through this without doing something he’d regret. They started to move as the singer drifted into the words of the song…

 

>   
>  _And dance your final dance.  
>  This is your final chance  
>  To hold the one you love.  
>  You know you’ve waited long enough._
> 
> _So believe that magic works.  
>  Don’t be afraid   
>  Of being hurt.  
>  Don’t let this magic die.  
>  The answer’s there,  
>  Oh, just look in her eyes_

As they swayed to the gentle rhythm, he found that he’d drawn her hand to his chest, she’d laid her head on his shoulder, he’d dropped his cheek to the top of her head and begun breathing in the flowery fragrance that he thought could sustain him better than air. He sighed and tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her hand moved from his shoulder to tangle in his hair above his collar.

 

>   
>  _And make your final move._   
>  _Don’t be scared,_   
>  _She wants you to._   
>  _Yeah, it’s hard._   
>  _You must be brave,_   
>  _Don’t let this moment slip away._
> 
> _Believe that magic works._   
>  _Don’t be afraid,_   
>  _Afraid of being hurt._   
>  _No, don’t let this magic die._   
>  _The answer’s there,_   
>  _Oh, just look in her eyes_
> 
> _And don’t believe that magic can die._   
>  _No, no, no this magic can’t die._
> 
> _So dance your final dance,_   
>  _’Cause this is your final chance._

The final notes of the song faded, and Harry held his breath, afraid to move for fear that she would pull away. He wanted to believe the words of the song, to believe that she wanted this as much as he did. And he knew if she looked up at him, regardless of the look in her eyes, he was going to kiss her because he couldn’t stop himself.   
  
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to find Dean watching them from across the floor. The realization of what he was doing hit him like a Bludger. He couldn’t do it. Releasing her abruptly, he took a step back. Was that confusion or hurt in her eyes? He didn’t take time to analyze it.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean—I—I need to go. I’m sorry.”   
  
He turned and dashed to the garden gate, donning his Invisibility Cloak as he went.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Magic Works is from the Soundtrack to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Jarvis Cocker (The full song can be heard at the end of the credits on the movie DVD)
> 
> Luna’s line “Sometimes I can even feel her hands on my back, holding me up,” is a tip-of-the-hat to my beta Minisinoo, borrowed from her short story “Holding Up.”


	10. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny seem to be drifting further apart—can this relationship be saved?

“Ron, how many times do I have to tell you I just can’t?” Harry leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers under his glasses to rub his bloodshot eyes. They’d had this conversation every afternoon for the past week.  
  
“Oh, come on. Mum’s decided you’re mad at her.”  
  
Harry stretched over the back of his chair to work the kinks out of his shoulders and laced his fingers behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He huffed out a breath and gestured with his elbow at the foot-high stack of parchment on his desk.   
  
“I’m not mad at her. I just can’t go with all this work to be done. By next week, I’ll be caught up and I’ll come to supper. But I can’t come this week.”  
  
Of course, Harry wasn’t about to admit that next week would be after the first of September, and he’d be free to go to the Burrow every night if they’d have him. But until Ginny left for school, he wasn’t going anywhere near the Weasley home, and his “detention” at work gave him the perfect excuse.  
  
“Bollocks!” Ron said, furrowing his brow in frustration. “No one expects you to work till midnight every night on this stuff. And even if they did, they can’t deny you a supper break.”  
  
Harry scowled. “I don’t stay until midnight every night.”  
  
Ron snorted in disbelief.  
  
“I left at half eleven last night.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “I know why you’re doing this.”  
  
Harry lazily lifted his head and cocked a questioning eyebrow at Ron.   
  
“You’re avoiding Ginny.”  
  
Harry dropped his head back to face the ceiling again and sighed heavily. “I’m doing it because I have work to do.” They’d had this conversation several times as well.  
  
“Yeah. Right.” Ron clearly didn’t believe him.  
  
They sat in silent standoff for several moments. With his eyes still on the ceiling, Harry finally broke the silence.  
  
“So—how is she?” He kept his voice carefully casual.  
  
Ron was quiet for so long that Harry wondered if he was going to answer, but didn’t dare look to find out. He started breathing again when Ron finally spoke.  
  
“She’s all right, considering. Has good days and bad days. She comes to the shop in the mornings. The first day was tough, but she forced herself to get through it. The second day, some reporter from  _Witch Weekly_  came in and she kind of lost it—I thought sure she wouldn’t come back, but she’s determined. Says she doesn’t want to let Greyback steal any more of her life.” Ron grew quiet again.  
  
Harry dropped his arms and leaned onto the desk. He picked up his quill and rolled the shaft between his fingers, keeping his eyes on the spinning feather. “Want me to see if I can get an Auror posted outside to keep the reporters away?”  
  
“Nah, George charmed the door. Anyone coming in with a camera or Quick Quotes Quill gets  _Confunded_  and their hair turns purple so we can identify them. After Tuesday, I’m sure word’s got around and we won’t have any more trouble.”  
  
Harry smiled at the twirling quill, thinking of what the reporter had probably suffered at the hands of George and Ron.   
  
“I’m glad she’s doing better,” he said after a moment.  
  
Ron leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Well, better doesn't mean great. We still catch her staring into space a lot, and she won’t go anywhere but the house and the shop. But she is getting better about having people around. She seems to feel more comfortable when it’s just family, though. George says we just need to give her some time.”   
  
“Yeah, I imagine so,” Harry said.   
  
“Of course, that git Thomas is still coming ’round,” Ron said. Harry’s heart lurched, but he managed to keep his expression blank. “She won’t go for ice cream with him, but she doesn’t run him off, either. I’d like to punch him. If he hadn’t taken her off that day—”  
  
“It wasn’t his fault,” Harry said, finally looking at Ron. “Greyback wanted her. It wouldn’t have mattered who she was with.”  
  
“Why are you defending him?” Ron looked puzzled and angry. His voice raised a notch. “She doesn’t belong with him—”  
  
Harry spoke sharply. “Let it go, Ron. If he makes her happy, let her be.”  
  
“Ah, come on, Harry. I saw the way she looked when you were dancing with her—the way the two of you looked—”  
  
“I said let it go,” Harry said in a flat voice as he pulled a sheet from the stack of parchment. “I need to get back to work.”  
  
Ron threw his hands in the air and gave a growl of frustration. Harry pointedly ignored him and pretended to read the form in front of him.  
  
“What happened?” Ron finally asked quietly.   
  
Harry didn’t bother to look up. This line of questioning was getting old, too. “Nothing happened.”   
  
“Harry, I’m your best mate. You can tell me. I swear, I won’t breathe a word to anyone. Not even Hermione—especially not Hermione.”  
  
Harry pretended to read for a few beats, then released a sigh of defeat and leaned his arms on the desk, giving Ron a serious look. “You promise? You won’t tell a soul?”  
  
Ron nodded eagerly.  
  
“Okay. Well—” Harry took a deep breath. “You promise, right?”  
  
“Yeah, I promise. What happened?”  
  
“Well… are you sure?”  
  
“Harry!”  
  
“Okay, okay. Here goes… You see, we danced and—and then—well, then—I left.” Harry sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Ron’s reaction.   
  
Ron dropped his head into his hands. “You’re making me mental.”  
  
“You were already mental.”  
  
Ron threw a piece of wadded parchment at him. “Come on, Harry! Talk to me.”  
  
“There’s nothing to talk about. Now, get out of here. I need to get back to work before Robards has my bollocks.”  
  
Ron studied him for a moment before pushing his lanky limbs from his chair. “All right, I’ll go. But you’re coming to the Burrow tomorrow. It’s Saturday and I know you don’t have to work weekends.”  
  
“I can’t.”   
  
Ron eyed him skeptically. “You can’t. What’s your lame excuse this time?”  
  
Harry dropped his eyes and the volume of his voice. “I have a date.”  
  
Ron’s jaw dropped before he exploded. “You have a what?”  
  
“A date. You know—you take a girl out… have a good time… You should try it sometime.”  
  
Ron stared at him, a variety of emotions flashing across his face. “A date. With who?”  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Daphne.”  
  
Ron flopped back into his seat. “Please tell me you didn’t say that. Bloody hell, Harry, why in the world would you go out with her? Rita Skeeter’s going to be all over you.”  
  
“Rita’s already all over me. Going out with Daphne isn’t going to make it any worse.”  
  
“But, why? Why would you do that?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “She asked. She’s got some party to go to. Said she didn’t want to go alone. I didn’t have a good reason to say no.” He didn’t add that he did have several good reasons to say yes.  
  
“I can think of about a dozen reasons to say no,” Ron sneered, “starting with the fact that you don’t like her—”  
  
“She’s okay,” Harry said defiantly.  
  
“—and ending with the fact that she’s as annoying as Gilderoy Lockhart at an autograph party.”  
  
“No, she’s—” Harry couldn’t continue his protest as he fought back a grin.   
  
“See! You think so, too.”  
  
“No,” Harry said, working to compose his expression. “No, I don’t. She can be quite—entertaining…”  
  
“Yeah, ’cause she’s loonier than a Lovegood—”  
  
“—and she’s nice looking—”  
  
“—well, yeah, she’s gorgeous, but—”  
  
“—and we have our career in common.”  
  
Ron appeared to be considering Harry’s last argument for a moment. But then said, “So—who are you trying to convince?” Before Harry could respond, Ron stood. “Never mind, I reckon I can work that one out.” He gave Harry a friendly punch in the arm. “You have fun with your paperwork. I’ll tell Mum you’ll come ’round next week.”  
  
Harry watched him go with a mixture of relief and irritation. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out against Ron’s insistent interrogation. And Hermione was even worse. She had showed up at his desk several times for the same purpose, though her questions were less direct and required a bit more mental agility to dodge. In short, they were sapping his already flagging energy and would eventually wear him down. He only hoped he could put them off until Ginny was gone, so they didn’t do something stupid.  
  
He turned back to processing his reports and thought longingly of the weekend ahead. After a long flight on his broom to clear his head, he was going to spend it just as he had spent the past two weekends—alone in bed. With Kreacher posted as guard (mostly from Ron), he just wanted to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling, recouping the enormous amounts of energy required to maintain his façade of normality during the never-ending week.   
  
Of course, he’d also have to get through Saturday evening with Daphne, but he’d decided that was a fortuitous opportunity he couldn’t pass up. He knew she wanted him only for the celebrity factor and, as long as she understood his intentions (or lack thereof), he was willing to oblige her as a way to keep his public pretense intact. No doubt, she would see to it that Rita helped perpetuate the ruse with a story in Sunday’s  _Prophet_ , but that also fit perfectly with his plan to let the world believe in the myth of their growing relationship. It was the best way he could think of to protect Ginny. If the media ever suspected his true feelings, they would be all over her and she didn’t need that kind of attention—especially now. From the sound of it, she’d had all she could handle since her abduction. With luck, this move would give the vultures something else to chew on and draw media attention away from her altogether.  
  
He knew he wasn’t fooling Ron and Hermione, but he might get away with fooling the rest of the world. And maybe, by going through the motions, he could eventually fool himself.  
  
***  
  
Ginny stared off into space as she sat hugging her knees to her chest in her usual spot on the garden bench. Over the past week, she’d perched here every afternoon after work, spending time in her “safe place” to build up her reserves for the next day. Today was just a bit different. She’d had to maintain her composure only during Sunday lunch with family, and she was able to relax a bit more than usual since she didn’t have to guard her secrets from them like she did with the customers at the shop. Well, most of her secrets…  
  
“Hi.”  
  
Ginny pulled herself from her thoughts. She looked blankly at Hermione for a moment before remembering that she needed to respond.  
  
“Oh, um, hi.”  
  
“Mind if I join you?”  
  
Yes, Ginny thought irritably, but forced herself into “normal” mode and put her feet on the ground to make room on the bench.  
  
Hermione took her seat and looked across the garden. Ginny sank back into her reverie as they sat quietly for a few moments. Hermione tentatively broke the silence. “Ron said you had a pretty good week at the shop.”  
  
That was a bit of an overstatement. Facing customers had been a struggle, but she’d managed to stiffen her spine and get through it. Ginny shrugged. “It was okay. Except for the scene with the reporter. I didn’t handle that very well.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have to handle it at all. They have no right to bother you when you’re working.”  
  
Ginny grimaced. “I don’t want them to bother me at home either. That lot in the field across the road are driving me round the bend.”  
  
“Have you considered giving an interview?” Hermione asked, eyeing her carefully. At Ginny’s look of horror she quickly continued. “It doesn’t have to be like that. Not all of them are completely horrible. Ron and I know a couple that would handle it properly. And it might make the rest of them back off a bit.”  
  
Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. “I couldn’t—I can’t even talk about it to family. How could I talk to a stranger who would print it all in the paper? Look what they did before—look what they do to you and Ron and—” Ginny stared off across the garden and her voice dropped to a whisper. “—and Harry.”   
  
Hermione sighed. “You saw the paper this morning.”   
  
With Hermione watching her so closely, Ginny had to work extra hard to keep her expression blank. Summoning the strength to sound calm, she took a deep breath so she could get it all out quickly.  
  
“It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. I heard you and Ron whispering about it last night. And, besides, I know he’s dating her and I know it’s not the last picture of him I’ll see in some newspaper or magazine with her or somebody else. I’m over it. Let it go.”   
  
Of course, she was lying. Even though she’d known it was coming, seeing the picture of Harry and Daphne entering the swanky restaurant had been painful. She knew she had to get used to it. Harry thought of her only as another member of the Weasley family. Rita Skeeter’s interview with him after Greyback was captured had driven that truth home—the words were burned into Ginny's memory:

>   
> _...I asked Harry why he would risk his life and career for Miss Weasley, whom he dated briefly during his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Is there more to their relationship than he’s letting on?_
> 
> _“The Weasleys have been my surrogate family for seven years,” Mr. Potter said solemnly. “I’d do the same for any of them.”_
> 
> _So I asked if his relationship with fellow Auror trainee Daphne Darling has changed._
> 
> _“Not a bit,” he said with a wink._   
> 

“I’m just worried about you, Ginny.” Hermione’s voice snapped her back to the present. “I know something happened at your party that you won’t talk about. I just want to help.”  
  
Ginny heaved a breath of frustration. She was tired of everyone asking her about this. “Nothing happened.”  
  
 _“Something_  happened. I saw you dancing and then he was gone. You were a mess afterward.”  
  
Ginny counted to ten before answering through gritted teeth. “Did you ever stop to think that the fact that nothing happened  _is_  the problem? I told you that months ago. Nothing is ever going to happen between Harry and me. Ever. It’s over. Finished. Period. And, the quicker I accept that fact and move on with my life the better off everyone will be.”  
  
Hermione dropped her head and played with her fingers in her lap. She chewed her lip as if considering an appropriate response.  
  
Ginny softened her expression and touched Hermione’s arm. “It’s okay. Really. I’ll be fine. I leave for school in two days and everything will be fine.”   
  
She didn’t really believe what she was saying, but she hoped by trying to convince Hermione and her family, she might eventually begin to believe it herself. She’d have to keep going through the motions until she could get back to the person she used to be.   
  
Hermione’s frown deepened. “Are you really ready to go back to school? I’m sure McGonagall would let you wait a bit—”  
  
“No, I need to go. I’m Head Girl.” She wasn’t sure she sounded as confident as she wanted to be.  
  
Ginny had hoped being away at school, getting back into her old routine, might make things easier. But working in the shop this week had given her a glimpse of what she could expect when she went back to Hogwarts—she had been only too aware of the curious looks and whispered remarks. She knew she would be spending a lot of time—at least at first—in her “safe haven” (the memory of her birthday dance had become her favorite retreat). And without her family around for support, she was going to have to rely heavily on the two friends she knew she could trust.   
  
Much to Ginny’s dismay, Hermione couldn’t seem to stop voicing her concern. “But, it’s going to be hard, isn’t it, without anyone who knows—”  
  
“Dean will be there. I know I can count on him. And Luna. She doesn’t know all the details, but she understands.”  
  
Hermione stood abruptly and began pacing in a tight circle. “Yes, Dean’s going back, isn’t he? I forgot.” She stopped and gave Ginny a look of alarm. “You’re not thinking of—of dating him, are you?”  
  
Ginny studied her quizzically for a moment. “I’m not thinking about dating  _anyone_. I’ve had a few other things on my mind. Dean’s a good friend.”   
  
Relief washed over Hermione’s face. “Of course. That was silly of me to even—”  
  
“But, I suppose it would make sense—” Ginny said thoughtfully “—after all we’ve been through together, I mean. He’s been so good to me this summer, in spite of everything. I just keep thinking I ought to be able to feel more for him. He’s really kind. And patient. He told me he’d like to give it another go, but he doesn’t push me or expect more than I can give. It almost seems wrong  _not_  to give it a try.”  
  
Hermione sat down, the concern back in her eyes. “No, wait! I wasn’t suggesting it. I mean, don’t you still have feelings for—”  
  
Ginny’s anger flared. “It doesn’t matter about my feelings, Hermione. I already told you that a dozen times.”  
  
“But, Ginny, is that fair to Dean when you both know he’s—well, second choice?”  
  
Ginny pushed herself from the bench and leaned her shoulder against the tree as she watched the shadow of a cloud pass over the orchard. “He said he wouldn’t mind—he’s very understanding about it.” She closed her eyes and laid her temple against the trunk. “How do you know when you love somebody? How did you know you were in love with Ron?”  
  
A couple of minutes passed before Hermione answered in a soft voice. “I don’t really know. It just kind of grew over time. First year, when he sacrificed himself during that chess game, I knew something was there—I just didn’t know what it was. I guess I started suspecting when we fought about Viktor taking me to the Yule Ball fourth year. Then when he spent the first part of sixth year attached to Lavender Brown’s face, among other things, I finally knew for sure. I guess if I had to give a specific reason, it’s because he keeps me thinking. He balances me—keeps me from becoming a total swot.” Ginny couldn’t help but smile at that. Hermione’s voice grew sad. “When he left us—Harry and me—last year, I thought I’d never see him again. I didn’t know how I was going to go on. I just know now that I can’t ever let him go.”   
  
She looked at Ginny. “So, to answer your question, I guess you just have to listen to your heart. You just know when it’s there. If you have to wonder, then it’s probably not.”  
  
Ginny sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess for now I should just leave things as they are. A lot can change before the end of school.”  
  
“Exactly!” Hermione agreed a little too eagerly. “And, besides, you really need to concentrate on your N.E.W.T.s anyway.”  
  
Ginny watched her for a moment. Hermione’s nervous gestures and the way she was chewing on her lip were sure indications that she had something more on her mind. But Ginny was suddenly very tired.  
  
“Yeah. It’s going to be a busy year. I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”  
  
***  
  
Harry looked up as the brown-papered package landed on top of his report, smearing the ink.  
  
“Lunch,” Ron said as he settled into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.  
  
“Thanks. Now I’ll have to redo this one.”  
  
Ron shrugged and pointed to the stack of parchment on the corner of the desk. “What’s one more? I think that stack is growing instead of getting smaller.”  
  
“Yeah, Robards is making sure I’ve learned my lesson about defying orders.” Harry set the sandwich aside. “Thanks for this.”  
  
“No problem.” Ron slouched back in his chair, propping his long legs on the corner of the desk. “Okay, so it’s next week. Mum sent me to make sure you’re coming to supper tonight.”  
  
Harry groaned. “Ron, you just pointed out that my stack is getting taller—”  
  
“Yeah, but Mum’s started to fret about you disowning the family like Percy did. Or that Robards has you chained to the desk or something. If you don’t show up tonight, she’s going to drive us all barking. I can’t promise she won’t do something drastic.”  
  
Harry dropped his head into his hands. “Not tonight, Ron. Look—no matter what, I’ll come tomorrow. I promise. But not tonight.”  
  
Ron shook his head and stood. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
  
Harry waved him off and pulled out his wand to try to salvage the ruined report.  
  
About an hour later, the unmistakable sound of a Howler drifted down the hall. The words were indistinguishable, though the voice sounded vaguely familiar. Harry chuckled under his breath as he flashed back to his second year at Hogwarts when Ron received one of the fiery envelopes at breakfast after their adventure with his dad’s enchan—Harry stopped laughing as he recognized the voice.  
  
“Oh, no,” he groaned.   
  
Confirmation came quickly.  
  
“POTTER!” Robards roared from his office, much louder than the Howler. “GET IN HERE!”  
  
Harry stepped into the Chief Auror’s office to find him sitting behind his desk, his face as scarlet as the bits of envelope stuck in his beard and littering the desk and floor.   
  
Harry gulped. “You wanted to see me?”   
  
Robards glared at him for a moment. “Sit!” he barked.  
  
Harry lowered himself tentatively into the chair in front of the desk, but remaining poised for flight.  
  
“What in the devil’s name did you tell Molly Weasley?”  
  
“Nothing, sir.” Harry fidgeted nervously.  
  
“You didn’t tell her I’m making you work until midnight every night?”  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
“Then where did she get that idea?”  
  
Harry stared at the floor. “I guess because I  _have_  been working late. But I didn’t tell her you were making me.”  
  
“So, you’re not using me to get out of having to go to the Burrow?”  
  
“No, sir. Not you.” Harry cast a nervous glance at him, then looked back at the floor and mumbled, “But maybe the work. Sir.”  
  
Robards leaned toward Harry over the desk and adopted a syrupy tone. “Do you mind telling me why?”  
  
Harry looked up quickly, then back at the floor, casting wildly about in his mind for a way out of this mess. He cleared his throat. “I’d rather not. Sir. It’s—um—personal.”   
  
Robards leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Personal. Well, I don’t appreciate getting Howlers because of  _your_  personal problems, Potter—because now it’s personal for me, too. The Weasleys and I go way back. We were in Gryffindor together at Hogwarts. If Molly Weasley’s upset, I’m upset. YOU GOT THAT?”  
  
Harry flinched as Robards shouted his last words. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“You had best get your arse to the Burrow this evening and make sure Molly isn’t upset anymore, understand?”  
  
Harry sat up straight and looked up defiantly. “I can’t go tonight—sir.”  
  
Robards stood and placed his palms on the desk, leaning toward Harry threateningly. “That wasn’t a request, Potter.”  
  
Harry swallowed hard, but held his position. “With all due respect, you can’t give me orders about how to spend my personal time.”  
  
Crimson crept slowly up Robards’ neck until it engulfed his whole head and looked as if it might explode out the top like lava from a volcano. Harry met his stare, refusing to back down.  
  
“Fine!” Robards said as he grabbed a quill and piece of parchment. He scribbled for a moment, then handed it to Harry. “You want to work late, you can work late. You’re on duty at the Burrow tonight starting at seven. I expect you to stay inside with the family until they go to bed.”  
  
Harry blanched. “No—please. I promised Ron I’d go tomorrow, but not tonight. Please—”  
  
“You ready to disobey another direct order, Potter?”  
  
Harry stood, his jaw muscle flexing as he met Robards’ challenging look. “No—sir.”  
  
“I’ll expect a good report from Molly tomorrow. You had better charm her well.”  
  
***  
  
Harry didn’t bother trying to hide from the paparazzi stationed in the field across from the Weasley's. If they took his picture going in, so much the better. He’d have proof for Robards that he was there. Nodding curtly to the lone guard outside the protective charms, he gave himself a stern lecture as he walked to the kitchen door.  
  
 _You can do this. It’s just one evening. Other people will be there. You don’t have to hold a conversation with her. Just be polite and then find someone else to talk to. Keep your head down and get through it. You’ve lived through worse…  
  
Yeah. Right.  
  
Get a grip, Potter. You can do this._  
  
Molly’s hug nearly strangled him before he made it through the back door. He thought it might have been a mercy if she’d succeeded.   
  
“Harry! What have they been doing to you? You look positively peaky.”  
  
“I’m all right, Mrs. Weasley. I’ve just been working so much, sometimes I forget to eat.”  
  
“Forget to eat? What nonsense. Well, let’s see if we can fatten you up a bit. Come in. Sit down, sit down. George, get Harry something to drink.”  
  
Harry gave the room a wave as the rest of the Weasley family shouted choruses of greetings. Ginny was across the kitchen helping with supper. He slipped into the chair between Ron and Arthur with an inward sigh of relief. With Bill and Fleur across the table, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about sitting near Ginny.  
  
The meal went more smoothly than Harry had anticipated, especially with Fleur dominating the conversation about home decorating. The men huddled at their end of the table talking about Auror training and the Chudley Cannons’s chances for the season. Harry found if he shifted in his chair just right, he could keep Ginny out of his line of sight and concentrate on the conversation much better. He might get through this after all.  
  
When the last of the pudding had been eaten and the dishes set to washing themselves in the sink, Fleur began to steer the women into the sitting room to look at catalogues of furniture and linens. Molly agreed eagerly and Hermione (with a furtive eye roll at Ron) allowed herself to be led more slowly.   
  
Ginny sidestepped Fleur’s guiding hand and waved them on. “I’m going to go finish packing. I’ll take a look when you have everything picked out.” She paused as she reached the stairs and turned back toward the table. “It was good to see you, Harry.”  
  
He smiled weakly. “You, too. Have a good year.”  
  
With a mixture of disappointment and relief, he watched until she disappeared from the first landing. He’d made it. The rest of the evening should be a piece of cake. Flexing his shoulders, he suddenly realized how tense he’d been. He settled back in his chair and sipped on his butterbeer, relaxing into the after-supper conversation.  
  
Hermione wandered through after a while and went upstairs. When she came back down a few moments later, she draped her arms around Ron’s neck in a hug from behind, bending down to whisper something in his ear before giving him a kiss on the cheek and going back to the sitting room. Harry was happy for his two best friends, but watching the moment of intimacy planted a seed of longing in his heart. He wondered if he’d ever have someone to share secrets and kisses with. Swallowing the rest of his drink, he went in search of another one.  
  
“Hey, Harry. I want to show you the new Quidditch book I got.” Ron stood and ambled toward the stairs. “It’s got some wicked strategy outlines. Come on up and take a look.”  
  
Ron stopped at the bottom step to let him go first. Harry shrugged and headed upstairs.  
  
When he reached the third landing, his feet stopped of their own accord and his eyes drifted involuntarily toward the open door of Ginny’s bedroom. He flashed back to the only time he’d been in there—on his birthday more than a year ago. She glanced at him, then went back to her packing. He turned quickly away and started to move on, but a jolt from behind sent him tumbling across the threshold to sprawl at Ginny’s feet, spraying the room with butterbeer as his bottle went flying. Too startled to react, Harry looked up to find Ron pulling the door closed.  
  
“You two have one hour. Talk to each other.”  
  
Harry scrambled to his feet in time to hear Ron casting a spell on the other side of the door.  _“Colloportus_.”  
  
They were locked in.


	11. Hello, Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night before Ginny leaves for school—their last chance to work things out.

Ron and Hermione had set them up.  
  
Ginny shook her head as she watched Harry yell at Ron and bang his fist on the door in frustration. It made so much sense now. Hermione had come in to chat for a moment and didn’t close the door when she left. Busy with her packing, Ginny hadn’t bothered to close it herself. Now she wished she had.  
  
Harry had stopped yelling and stood with his forehead against the door in defeat. Downstairs they could ignore each other equally in a room full of people. Here, his attempts to claw his way out—like Scabbers caged with Crookshanks—were much more obvious. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her and she couldn’t stand the pain of knowing it.  
  
Ginny’s eyes stung with tears, but she lifted her chin. She would not break down. She dropped the pile of knickers into her trunk and turned to her wardrobe.  
  
“It’s okay, Harry,” she said over her shoulder in as casual a tone as she could muster. “You can just wait him out. I won’t bother you.”  
  
“No—Ginny—I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—” He gave up and slumped to the floor with his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Ginny stopped pulling socks from the drawer, her irritation overcoming the wave of despair. “I really wish you’d stop saying that,” she said tersely. “That’s about all you’ve said to me since the war ended and it’s getting dead annoying.” She finished gathering the clothing and turned to drop the pile into her trunk.  
  
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.  
  
She glared at him before turning back to her task. The silence stretched as she continued making trips between the wardrobe and the trunk, painfully aware of him watching her. She was glad she had decided not to use magic to pack. At least this way she had something to keep herself busy.  
  
He finally broke the silence. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. After the war, I mean.” His voice was quiet and somber.  
  
She paused briefly as she folded a jumper, but didn’t respond.  
  
“It just sort of happened,” he continued, pulling up his knees and dropping his head onto them as he talked. “We’d been on the run for so long, usually with almost no food or sleep. And those last few days, I think we were up for two days straight. Then Voldemort was gone and I thought I was finally free—" He let out a heavy sigh. "But then the media circus started.”  
  
Ginny stood frozen over her trunk, clutching a pile of jumpers, listening without looking at him. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but concentrate on his hypnotic voice.  
  
“Half the time, I didn’t know where I was or even what day it was. If Fleur hadn’t been around to take control, I think I’d still be wandering from place to place.”  
  
He looked up, raw emotion glittering in his eyes. “Ginny, I wanted so badly to see you, to talk to you. But everything and everyone seemed to be getting in the way. And I was so tired—so very tired. I just didn’t have it in me to fight them.”  
  
She put the jumpers down and turned back to the wardrobe so he couldn’t see the feelings she was sure would show in her eyes. Several minutes passed before he continued.  
  
“The night of the supper for Hermione’s parents, I knew you were angry with me. It nearly killed me to have to leave that next morning without talking to you. I wanted to say so much in that letter I sent, but I couldn’t put the words on paper. I needed to look at you when I said them.”  
  
Suddenly the tears were impossible to hold back. Ginny put her hand over her mouth to keep her sob from escaping. She willed her shoulders not to shake and give her away.  
  
“Then, when I got back, you were with Dean.” Harry’s voice was devoid of emotion. He sounded weary, defeated. “I—I didn’t know what to think—not at first, anyway.” He cleared his throat and paused a few moments before continuing. “And, then—then I realized that it was for the best. Dean’s a good bloke. I can tell he cares about you. And you deserve someone—”  
  
Something clicked in her brain and Ginny whirled on him, not caring anymore about her red eyes and wet cheeks.   
  
“I don’t need your permission about who to date! I can make my own choices.”   
  
He looked up, confused. “All I’m saying is that you’d be safe with him…”  
  
She shook with fury. Her raging emotions were screaming to get out and she was ready to turn them loose.   
  
“Well, maybe I don’t  _want_  to be safe,” she yelled. “You didn't break up with me last year to keep me safe. You just wanted me out of the way so you and Ron and Hermione could go play the hero or the martyr or whatever.”  
  
She saw his eyes begin to burn like a Floo fire. “You think we were out there playing some kind of game? It was bloody hell!”  
  
Finally! A blazing row was exactly what she needed right now. She felt more alive than she’d felt in weeks.  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t know about that, would I? Because I’m not important enough to be in Harry Potter’s sacred circle. No, I’m just his best friend’s little sister. Just another Weasley he’s got to protect from the bad guys.”   
  
Harry pushed himself from the floor and glared at her. “Damn right I’m going to protect you if I can.”  
  
“Oh, it’s okay for Ron and Hermione to fight beside you, but I have to be protected?” Ginny knew she sounded like a banshee, but didn’t care. “Get over yourself, Harry. I’ve told you before, I can take care of myself!”  
  
“Yeah, you were doing a great job of taking care of yourself when I got you out of Greyback’s shack.”  
  
She balled her fists and let out a scream to vent her rage so she wouldn’t hit him. “And how the bloody hell do you think you found me? If that idiot had given me that portkey before it activated, I’d have been home before you had a chance to play the hero.” Ginny felt a surge of power as she realized for the first time the role she’d played in her own rescue. But she didn’t have time to examine it now as Harry yelled back at her.  
  
“Yeah, and Greyback would still be out there, hunting you down. And who do you think would be trying to stop him?”  
  
“You really do think the world revolves around you, don’t you? This wasn’t about you!”  
  
“Maybe not… this time. But what about next time or the next? In case you haven’t noticed, the people I care about tend to get hurt badly if they don’t end up dead!”  
  
“You can’t protect everyone all the time, Harry. You can’t protect  _me_  all the time.”  
  
He became suddenly still. The fire went out of his eyes and he got that look—the look she knew meant he had accepted his destiny, chosen his course of action. She’d seen it so many times through the years—the last time after Dumbledore’s funeral. She didn’t like it one bit.  
  
“Yes. I can,” he said. “I  _can_  protect you. At least from getting hurt because of me.”  
  
Desperately trying to rebuild the momentum of the fight, she placed her fists on her hips and leaned into his face. “Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that? Lock me in a tower?”   
  
He didn’t take the bait. He gave her a sad look and said quietly, but firmly, “I can stay away from you.”  
  
She stared at him in shock, all the fight sucked out of her. “Is that what you’ve been doing?” she whispered hoarsely. “You’ve been staying away to—to—to protect me?”  
  
He didn’t answer, just looked at her steadily.  
  
“So what about Daphne? Rita’s article said—”  
  
He finally broke his gaze to inspect the floor. “She jumped to the wrong conclusion. I didn’t correct her.”  
  
“But you went out—”  
  
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet. “Hermione calls it a mutually beneficial publicity stunt.”   
  
“A what?” she asked incredulously.  
  
“Daphne wants to date Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World.” He shrugged. “I went along.”  
  
Ginny let out a disdainful laugh. “So what did you get out of it?”  
  
His head snapped up at her sarcastic tone. “Not what you’re thinking.”  
  
She cocked an eyebrow at him.  
  
He ran his hand through his hair and huffed out a frustrated breath. “During our interview, Rita guessed that—well—let’s just say I wanted to divert Rita’s attention. I was trying to keep the press away from you. You didn't need—”  
  
Ginny gaped at him as his meaning became clear. “You mean you went out with another girl to protect me from the  _press_?”  
  
He looked at the floor and shrugged.  
  
In a split second, she was more furious than ever. “YOU! BLOODY! BASTARD!”  
  
She grabbed the empty butterbeer bottle and threw it at his head. He ducked as it smashed against the door behind him.  
  
“Ginny—” He dove out of the way to dodge the book she flung at him and scrambled back to his feet. “Ginny, that’s not fair. You’re dating Dean…”  
  
“No, I’m not!” She fired a vase that shattered inches from his ear. “We’re just friends.”  
  
Harry grabbed her wrists as she searched wildly for something else to throw. “Wait! You’re not dating Dean? Does he know? The two of you look—”  
  
She tried futilely to pull away from his grasp. “Yes, he knows. And he knows why, too. Let me go!”  
  
He held her tighter and jerked her up to look at him. “Why, Ginny? Why are you and Dean just friends?”  
  
She couldn’t hold her sobs back any longer and pulled as far from him as he would allow. “Because—of you! Damn you—Harry Potter—because—of you!” she screamed, her breath hitching between each phrase.  
  
Harry’s grip slackened as the surprise registered on his face. “Because of me?”  
  
She pulled from his grasp and beat her fists on his chest. “Yes, damn you! I don’t want you to protect me. I just want you to love me.”  Her final words came out in a whimper as she collapsed against him and let the sobs wrack her body. “I just want you to love me.”  
  
He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “I do, Ginny,” he whispered between kisses in her hair. “I do love you.”  
  
She grew still, her breathing ragged. Was she dreaming? Did he really say—  
  
“What?” she whispered against his damp shirt. “What did you say?”  
  
He pulled back to look at her face. “I said I do love you.”  
  
She searched his eyes, afraid to believe what she’d heard. But then his mouth was covering hers, his arms were holding her tightly, and she melted into him.  
  
The door banged open in a replay of the same scene a year and a month earlier. This time, they looked up but didn’t jump apart.   
  
And this time Ron was grinning as he said, “Oh. Sorry.”   
  
“Go away, Ron,” Ginny said, already pulling Harry’s head back down.   
  
He smiled against her lips as they heard a chorus of whoops and hollers through the closing door. “Do you think we were a little outnumbered?”  
  
“Mmmm,” she agreed, continuing to press kisses on his lips.  
  
“I’m really—sorry—Ginny—I—”  
  
“Harry,” she cut him off in exasperation. “Can you  _please_  find something more interesting to do with your mouth right now?”  
  
He grinned. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”  
  
***  
  
“Ginny, we talked about this last night. The subject is closed,” Harry said.  
  
She flopped back against the car seat in a huff, then stuck her tongue out at Ron and Hermione who were trying not to laugh.   
  
The four of them sat in the back of the Ministry-provided car taking them to King’s Cross Station. Harry and Ginny had spent most of the drive arguing.  
  
“Harry, I told you last night, I don’t need protecting. I faced the press after Greyback. I can survive it.”  
  
Harry groaned. “No! This is your N.E.W.T. year and you’re Head Girl on top of that. You don’t need reporters hounding you, too.”  
  
“They won’t be able to get to me at Hogwarts.”  
  
“So you don’t want to go to Hogsmeade? And the holidays will be a nightmare. The minute you set foot off Hogwarts grounds, they’ll come after you. Please, Ginny, please. Just get through this school year, then I promise we won’t keep it a secret anymore.”  
  
Molly turned to look at them from the front seat where she sat with Arthur. “Harry’s right, dear. You’re going to have enough on your mind without having to worry about all of that, too.”  
  
“Mu-um! You’re not helping!”  
  
“Ah! Here we are,” Arthur said, putting a halt to the argument as the car pulled to a stop outside the station. He and Molly got out.  
  
Ginny looked at Harry with pleading eyes. “Please?”  
  
He cupped her face and looked at her warmly before giving her a thorough kiss.   
  
“No,” he said firmly.  
  
“Arrrgh! Harry James Potter, you are the most stubborn—”  
  
“Go on. You need to go with your parents and Hermione like we planned. Ron and I will get your things.”  
  
She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “I don’t want to go.”  
  
He gathered her close, savoring the feel of her, inhaling the flowery scent he would soon have to live without. This still seemed like a dream, a wonderful, impossible dream. He didn’t know which was worse—the fear that any minute he’d wake up in his bed with aching, empty arms, or the fact that he was here, getting ready to put her on a train that would take her away. Either way, he was left alone.  
  
“I know. I don’t want you to, either.” He hugged her tight. “But, I promise, I’ll come visit soon. And I’ll write every day.”  
  
“I miss you already,” she said, her voice muffled against him.   
  
“I love you,” he whispered into her ear. Words to express his emotions had never come easily, but these three words for this one person seemed to emerge without effort of their own accord.  
  
She smiled against his neck. “I love you, too.”  
  
He dipped his head and captured her mouth, trying to make up for lost time, past and future.  
  
“Uh, can we get moving?” Ron was tapping his foot impatiently. “We came early so we could beat the crowd, remember?”   
  
Harry looked up reluctantly. “Oh yeah. I forgot.”  
  
“Hmph!” Ron said, but couldn’t quite hide his smile.  
  
With one last quick kiss and a determined pout at Harry, Ginny followed Hermione out the door while Harry and Ron got out on the other side. Outside of Platform 9-3/4, Harry felt fairly protected from the eye of the Wizarding press. But once they passed through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, he was certain the photographers would be waiting—they always seemed to know where he would be, amazingly even before he did. As the elder Weasleys and the girls went ahead, Harry and Ron retrieved Ginny’s trunks from the boot and followed at a slower pace.  
  
“So you ready, mate?” Harry asked.  
  
Ron gave him a nervous look. “Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be.”  
  
Harry gave a solemn nod and the two of them plunged through the apparently solid bricks. As expected, a dozen or so photographers and reporters stood on the platform behind a barricade guarded by two Aurors. Harry nodded in greeting at the guards, but didn’t acknowledge the popping flash bulbs or calls for more pictures or interviews by the press corps.  
  
They were the reason for “the plan.”   
  
The plan was for Harry to act as the family security escort, paying Ginny only minimal, brotherly attention and giving her a chaste hug before the train left. Ginny hated the plan. He wouldn’t admit it to her, but he didn’t much like it either. Now that they’d finally got back together, he wanted nothing more than to make the most of every moment before she left. But, whether she wanted it or not, he also had a driving need to try to protect her from the media vultures that would viciously pick her bones for every scrap of information once their reunion became public. He was convinced keeping their relationship under wraps was the best course of action until she finished school. Ginny had tried nearly everything to change his mind (and almost succeeded at one point, though he’d never admit it), but he had stayed firm in his resolve.  
  
Harry and Ron hauled the trunks onto the train. Ginny passed them in the carriage corridor on her way to don her school robes. Harry squeezed her hand as she brushed closer to him than was really necessary, but he refused to look at her properly in case anyone was paying attention. She grimaced before moving on.   
  
“You’re digging a hole there, mate,” Ron said as they stepped from the train.  
  
“Yeah, well, I’ll just have to fill it later,” Harry murmured. “She’ll get over it.”  
  
“Uh, huh. Sure she will,” Ron said. “But you’re going to be shoveling for a long time. I told you, ya gotta let ’em be right, even if they’re wrong.”  
  
“Not this time. There’s too much at stake.”  
  
Ron snorted. “Yeah, we’ll see.” He waited a beat then flashed Harry a wicked grin. “So should I be defending her honor?”  
  
Harry felt the blood rush to the roots of his hair. “No!”  
  
Ron gaped at him. “No? Are you mental? She’s leaving for  _four_  months.”  
  
Harry shrugged and sighed. “I know. I just want—well, I want the first time to be special, you know? Not have to rush because your Mum might come barging in.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess. Still…”  
  
“And besides,” Harry continued, casting a sly glance at Ron. “If last night was any indication, it’s  _my_ honor you’ll be defending.”  
  
Ron hooted with laughter. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”  
  
Hermione walked over and put her arm around Ron’s waist. “What doesn’t surprise you?”  
  
“Nothing, dear,” Ron said with a wink at Harry. “Nothing ever surprises me.”  
  
Hermione gave him a skeptical look but didn’t pursue the subject as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley joined their group. Several camera flashes went off while they chatted about the coming school year and greeted other early arrivals. Arthur and Molly strolled over to speak to Augusta Longbottom, who’d come to see Neville off.   
  
Harry saw Ginny step from the train in her school robes, Head Girl badge glinting in the dim light. She seemed to be holding up well, so far. He knew she was nervous about going back to school, and she’d told him she had to work hard to appear confident in public. But she was determined not to give in to the fear. Hermione had said she seemed much better, much happier, today. Harry liked to think he’d had a part in that.  
  
Ginny waved at someone down the platform. Dean. The beast in Harry’s chest lifted its head and gave a warning growl as she stood on tiptoe to give Dean a hug. Harry watched the pantomime of their conversation, catching, but not acknowledging, Dean’s significant glance in his direction. Dean gave her a sad smile and nod, hugged her again, and began loading his trunk on the train. The beast relaxed, but remained alert.  
  
Ron gave Harry a pointed look, then whispered in Hermione’s ear before guiding her down the platform toward the end of the train. Harry followed them at a distance, stopping to watch as they boarded. He surreptitiously pulled his wand from his pocket and kept it close to his side.  
  
“Why do you have your wand out?” Ginny stood nearby, but not too close and didn’t look at him as she spoke. Though the platform was still fairly empty, enough people were milling around that it wasn’t too obvious that they were together.  
  
Harry nodded toward the train compartment window where Ron and Hermione were talking and laughing.  _“Confundus_  Charm. They need some privacy.”  
  
Ginny looked up. “What are they doing?”  
  
“Watch.”  
  
Ginny cast him a quizzical look before turning back to the window. Ron and Hermione had sat down across from each other, their conversation growing more serious. Face flaming, Ron was doing most of the talking and Hermione was looking at him adoringly. Harry could see Ginny’s expression change to one of understanding.  
  
“That’s where they first met.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“He’s going to do it, isn’t he?”  
  
Harry didn’t respond. He was too busy holding his breath.  
  
They watched as Ron moved into the center of the compartment, his head still on level with Hermione’s. He talked for a couple more minutes. Her hands flew to her mouth and her eyes opened wide in surprise. She flung herself at him and they disappeared below the bottom of the window.  
  
Harry blew out his breath. Ron had got through it and, so far, no one but he and Ginny seemed to be aware that anything special was happening.   
  
“You think that was a yes?” he asked without looking at Ginny.  
  
She grinned broadly. “Oh yeah. I’d say that was a definite yes.”  
  
When Ron and Hermione descended from the train a few moments later, Ginny ran to give them a hug. A couple of flashes went off as the vultures twigged to something happening. Harry walked over to slap Ron on the back and hug Hermione. A few more cameras flashed. When Hermione showed Ginny her ring, the platform exploded in strobe lights accompanied by a cacophony of shouted questions.  
  
“Bloody hell,” Ron grumbled. “Don’t they know they can blind someone like that?”  
  
Molly and Arthur came running, followed closely by a rather large crowd of friends and curious on-lookers who gathered to see what was happening. Harry stepped quietly to the back of the group, watching the show with a smirk and glad not to be at the center of it. He grimaced when Ginny sidled over and let the crowd push her closer than he would have otherwise allowed, but then he relaxed and took advantage of the distraction to twine his fingers into hers amid the folds of her robes. Her smile grew broader and she squeezed his hand.  
  
“See what would happen?” he asked without looking at her.  
  
Her smile faded abruptly. “I don’t care. It’s going to happen eventually. Why not just get it over with?”  
  
He shook his head and squeezed her hand before letting go. “Not until you’ve finished school,” he whispered.  
  
With a mutinous look, she turned on her heel and stalked away. Harry gave her only a cursory glance, but when he scanned the platform in search of her a few moments later, he saw her talking to Dean and Seamus. The beast rose and snarled. Maybe Ron was right. Four months was a long time to be apart. Was he pushing her too far?   
  
He shook off the notion. She didn’t need the distraction this year. She had far too much to be going on with to have to deal with the kind of harassment that going public with their relationship would draw. She just didn’t understand. He knew he was right. They could get through it.  
  
She looked his way, then returned to her conversation, giving Dean an especially bright smile. The beast roared and Harry resolutely turned his back.   
  
He watched Ron and Hermione walk over to the vultures to spend a few minutes answering questions. Since they had gone on the run with him last year, the press had targeted them almost as much as him, especially since they had become a couple. Though they didn’t like it any more than he did, they had become quite adept at handling the attention. He supposed Ginny would, too, eventually, but he wasn’t ready yet to subject her to additional scrutiny. She was getting enough on her own right now—he hoped it would die down quickly after Greyback’s trial. He wanted to protect her as long as he could. And he wanted to keep her to himself for a while.  
  
The ten-minute warning whistle sounded, and students began boarding the train in earnest. Harry watched as Ginny and Neville herded first-years and directed the new prefects to the compartment at the front of the train for their meeting. He had put off thinking about this moment, but now that it had arrived, he wasn’t prepared to let her go without a proper goodbye. The plan was his idea, and he was determined to stick to it. He had to do what was right, not what was easy. But he was beginning to think this was going to be  _too_  hard. He needed to hold her one more time before she left.  
  
With five minutes to go, she came to say her goodbyes. She hugged her parents and Ron and Hermione, then turned to Harry. He put his arms loosely around her shoulders and released her after the briefest of hugs, just like they’d planned. She blinked rapidly at him.   
  
“Well, I guess I’ll see you at Christmas then.” Her voice broke a bit on the last word.   
  
He watched her play nervously with the lightning bolt pendent at her throat (he’d finally got around to giving it to her last night). He made his decision.   
  
“Go to the luggage compartment and wait for me,” he whispered. “I’ll use my Invisibility Cloak and come give you a proper goodbye.”  
  
She looked up at him for a moment then got a determined look in her eye. “No.”  
  
His jaw dropped. “No?”  
  
“No,” she said firmly. “If you want to give me a proper goodbye, you have to do it here.”  
  
He clamped his jaw shut and his eyes blazed. “Ginny, you saw what’ll happen.”  
  
She glared back. “That’s exactly why I want to do it here. I’m going to be gone for four months. I need to send a message to the whole world—and especially to Daphne bloody Darling—that you’re no longer on the market. You’re mine and I want everyone to know it.”  
  
Harry blinked. A rush of heat surged through him. He’d waited for her, wanted her for so long, and now she wanted to stake her claim to him. How was he supposed to argue with that? It was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her and  _Apparate_  them both away.  
  
Suddenly the vulnerability was back in her eyes. She blinked back tears. “Please, Harry. I need you. Please don’t send me away like this.”  
  
That did it. He was done. At the look of fear and longing on her face, he knew he didn’t have a prayer of winning.   
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
She nodded. He knew she wasn’t thinking through the consequences, that she didn’t understand what she was asking of him. He wouldn’t be able to protect her from this and it was killing him. But he didn’t have the strength to deny her. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, drawing on all of his reserves to try one last time.  
  
“You’re absolutely certain? You have to be sure, Ginny. Once you go down this road, there’s no going back.”  
  
“I’m sure, Harry.”  
  
The final whistle sounded, warning that the train was leaving in two minutes.  
  
He gave her one last questioning look. She threw her arms around his neck. With a groan of defeat, he buried his hand in her hair, crushed her mouth to his, and caught her close with his other arm.   
  
The resulting chaos became the stuff of Hogwarts legend. 

Like so many bolts of lightning, the cameras illuminated the platform and electrified the crowd. Harry was oblivious to the catcalls, cheers, and laughter.   
  
“Ginny,” Molly said loudly, tapping Harry on the shoulder to get their attention. “You’ve got to go. The train’s leaving.”   
  
Harry released Ginny reluctantly and helped her into the car, still holding her hand as it began pulling away.   
  
“Love you,” she said.  
  
“I’ll come as soon as I can,” he called as the train picked up speed and he had to let go.   
  
He ran alongside the car until he reached the end of the platform, just as she’d done the first time he’d met her on his first trip to Hogwarts. They’d come full circle. He watched the train until he couldn’t see the steam rising into the sky any longer.  
  
“Told you.” Ron’s voice close to his ear brought him back to the station.  
  
Harry frowned. “I still don’t like it.”  
  
“No, but you gotta let ‘em be right.”  
  
With a final longing look down the track, Harry turned back to where Hermione was waiting patiently for them.  
  
Ron slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, mate. Four months isn’t so long. You’ll hardly know she’s—ow!”  
  
The punch in the shoulder Harry gave him wasn’t as friendly as it appeared. “Four months, my arse. McGonagall’s going to think I’m still in school.”  
  
“Or you could just buy the Hog’s Head,” Ron said with a wink at Hermione.   
  
Harry grinned. “Don’t give me any ideas. Let’s go. I’ve got owls to send.”  
  
As one, they stepped, turned and disappeared.  
  
 ** _THE END_**


End file.
